Malachite Gift
by Lazov
Summary: Hadrian Potter, the boy-who-was-orphaned.
1. Chapter 1

_**1st of September, 1991**_

The platform was bustling with people. Girls, boys, their parents and a varied assortment of animals in cages, the noise of the crimson engine outshouting them all as they stood there, uncertainty, nervousness and joy mixed in together, on all of their faces.

These were the obvious emotions, the obvious children, the ones standing in plain sight. There are always more than a few who slip between the cracks. One such made his way past all the other children, past the parents, past the worried words, and words of comfort and love. The boy was small, some would say too small, for his age as he dragged the trunk behind him. A few things could be observed about the boy; his pitch-black hair, unruly, yet short; the wire-thin glasses he wore, obscuring his eyes slightly, but helping him to see to an extent. There were still some blurry shapes in the distance or in the corner of his eye he paid no heed as he reached the back end of the train, well ahead of the schedule for its departure.

Silently, the boy made his way through the empty train, every compartment he encountered void of people, but he would not place himself near the first half of the train, those would fill out too quickly and with, he assumed, too many people at once. He'd have some solitude and peace for a while before others forced their presence onto him. A quarter past the other half of the train should suffice for what he had in mind. He shoved the trunk, not too heavy, not too light, beneath his seat, having no desire to let the others in his compartment aware of anything he could do. It would not do well for them to come into the compartment and see the trunk lifted up on the perch above the seats, way higher than a child of eleven could reach. Because in the end, he'd have to bring it down again and that would be done in the presence of others.

As he settled down his body onto the seat, he took a peak outside, observing the platform and the increase in the population of people standing there, more and more arriving as he watched. Deciding that it was a frivolous pursuit, to watch the people he didn't know, he looked up at the big clock on the platform, seeing he had almost an entire hour before more people started converging onto the train itself. He bent downwards, pulling out his trunk, tapping it in a specific order, with a melody in his mind, and retrieving two books, one with slightly more worn covers than the other. For now, there was no outside. There was no thought of other people coming into the compartment and disturbing his reading. For now, there was only the book and the knowledge it would provide, knowledge he would brush upon.

He fingered the spine of the book with adulation in his face, inhaling its scent, his face buried in its pages, remembering how all of this began.


	2. Chapter 2

He was back in the dark again. It started with the letter they received on that one day. They sent him off for the mail, while they gorged themselves on the food he had been preparing since before any of them were up. None of that would be saved for him. The thought most likely never even crossed their minds.

The boy picked up the pile of letters that littered the floor, and made his way back to the kitchen, placing all the letters on the kitchen counter, before leaving the place, where his nose was tantalized by scents of fresh food he isn't allowed to taste.

"Boy, go pull the weeds, I saw how you neglected the garden this past week, no lunch or dinner for you today," a voice growled from the kitchen table.

The boy supressed a noise that threatened to rise from his throat, a mixture of hunger pangs and anger. His face showed no signs of it, a blank mask stood in its place, having learned that any sorts of facial expression, any visible sign of rebellion or discontent would be beaten out of him.

He didn't respond, knowing that his 'Uncle' would use that as an excuse to inflict additional punishment. But before he could even reach the door to venture outside, he felt himself being grabbed by the collar of the rags he wore and slammed into the wall, his glasses barely standing on his face, blurring his vision. Overshadowing him, in width and height, was the presence of one Vernon Dursley. The man yelled obsceneties and the shock from being slammed against the hallway wall made the boy lose his hearing for the span of a few seconds.

"— of your kind! ANSWER ME!"

The hands, with their sausage-like fingers, sweat and grease intermingled, pressed hard on the diminutive frame and the boy couldn't help but let slip a sound of pain, as he felt his flesh bruise and his bones ache under the pressure. Not receiving a reply from the boy, the older man once more grabbed the boy, this time holding him by the neck, before snapping open the familiar boot cupboard door and violently throwing him in. With the impact from before and this new one, it proved too much. The boy blacked out, hoping it was the last time, hoping for release from his miserable existence.

But no such luck favored him, and he awoke, as many times before today, in the dark. In the familiar damp and constrictive space where he spent all of his life. He wasn't certain how much of his life had actually passed, and one time made the mistake of asking the Dursleys about his age. Though he got the answer he sought, he thought it an answer not worth the price, as the bruises beneath his rags made him wince with every sudden movement.

* * *

He knew his age, but not his day of birth. That they never revealed to him. Eleven years. He could not remember the first two years clearly that he spent at the Dursley household. But where else could he have been if not here? He had no family left, as they reminded him on a daily basis. His parents dead, dead by their own hands, dead by their own neglect and lack of common sense. Alcoholics, drug addicts, jobless, worthless burdens on society. He had no brother. No sister. No one but the Dursleys. Often, serving as a prayer of sorts, he wished he had joined his parents in death, no matter how they might have been in life. Even nothingness was preferrable to this existence.

His experiences with the outside world had made him distrustful towards people. What little adults he had encountered, other than his Aunt and Uncle, had failed him completely. Promising some kind of salvation, a reprieve from the abuse he suffered, and then vanishing from sight or simply ignoring him. The children were the same, if not worse. Whether by mere association or by seeing that their deeds would go unpunished, many of the children in the neighborhood would join his cousin in their game, where they would viciously hunt him down and beat him. The rare one or two times someone tried being something more than a passerby in his life, they were scared away. Whether by his cousin or by words that his guardians spewed to the outside world, he didn't know. He didn't care much by the time they had left. The distrust they had instilled in him helped him realize some things. He had long since known that the Dursleys hated him, hated him to the core, hated his very existence. So he no longer trusted their words. The words hurt nonetheless, but he never trusted them. And in those lonely moments of his life, of which there were many, he had gone back and looked on all they said to him. Something inside him told him that they lied about his parents. There was some small comfort in knowing that, knowing that there was something that the Dursleys would never be able to take away from him. But he would have to hide it, not even a glimmer of it was to be shown.

He learned his lessons well in the Dursley household, fading out of existence when guests arrived, locked up and silent, with meagre offerings of food not fit to feed the dogs that Vernon's sister often brought to the house in her very loud and violent visits. But he ate nonetheless. It was either that or starve to death. And while death was one thing he wouldn't shy away from, this kind of death was unacceptable to him. So he ate in silence, in the dark, while his mind was blank of all thoughts, all pondering about what might be going on outside his cupboard vanishing in the drone-like behavior of feeding himself.

Survival. That was the primary thing that pushed him through all the years of abuse. Survive. Survive and leave this hell behind. He knew that he'd be a slave for seven more years. Seven years of hell. He didn't know whether he'd make it through. Many times, when he looked upon his broken body, he wondered how he survived at all. Many times, the bruises stayed on his body, but the pain was gone by the morning. Few times, he had experienced sharp pain, piercing him throughout the flesh, and he would find the cuts, the scars, healed and scabbed over. He knew it was unnatural. He knew it was not something that most people could do. The Dursleys knew too, every time they saw how some of his wounds had healed, how there was less damage than they inflicted upon him the night before. Strangely enough, they didn't punish him as often when these things happened. Not outright, not in the obvious way. They would increase his chores, give him less food and watch his every move.

* * *

For some reason that he could not comprehend, it changed from that day. They had removed him from the cupboard two days later, when he was nearly dead from dehydration. Waking up to a feeling of drowning didn't help matters. For a reason he couldn't understand, they had moved him out of the cupboard. They had moved him out of his safe place and thrust him into the smallest bedroom, one which served as a storage place for his cousin's abandoned toys, magazines and clothing, amongst other things.

They did very little to change about the room, adding a bed that looked more fit for being set afire, having not one redemable thing about it, than for someone to sleep on it. There were guttural words spoken, harsh words, insults spoken, beatings promised.

But the boy noticed that they lacked the usual malice behind them. The words were true, in a manner of speaking, but there was something else behind them. Some hesitation. Some... he would not dare voice it, but he felt fear hiding behind the threats. Fear in their eyes as they continued ordering him about the house and the yard outside. They still watched him, but with caution, mixed in with their usual loathing and hate for his very presence.

Another strange thing was that he started receiving food on a daily basis. No more than a meal per day, and not much of it, nothing like what he was forced to prepare for them three times a day. The basics. Bread, some kind of cream, and a few very thin pieces of meat spread across the bread. He thought they wished to poison him, to be rid of him once and for all. And in a way, he was right.

Then the day arrived. The day that changed his life.

* * *

He was out in front of Privet Drive 4, tending to the garden, reshufling the black soil, watering the plants, trimming the roses from thorns, watching so that he did not cut himself in the process. But by now, this was almost an automaton response, the chore itself was ingrained into him.

The air was heavy with damp, yet still the sun shone. The damp promised rain in a few days, and the boy would welcome it, just a little bit of respite from the heat that nearly made him have a stroke. And as was usual for most of his childhood life, his mind was blank, not even truly focused on the task he now performed, only a faint outline of what was happening was transmited to his mind.

So he didn't notice the... man approaching. He didn't notice how large the man was. He might have been as big as a house and he still wouldn't have noticed. But he did notice the shadow covering him now. The sudden change from light to shadow broke his blank mask for a moment and made him aware of his surroundings. The sudden interruption in his chore made him lose the fluidity of the moment, and he felt the pinprick of one of the many thorns that still needed to be sheared away.

Then he noticed the man. If a man it could be called. Larger than the man that called himself his Uncle. Much, much taller and more wider. The boy was thinking the heat addled his brain and made the man seem disproportionate from whatever his actual size was.

"What are yer doin' out 'ere, eh? It's mighty fierc' in the sun, yah might faint," boomed the words of the figure in front of him.

Not answering his question, for it would do him no good, he merely asked with as much stability he could muster from his voice, "Can I help you, sir?"

Though he still couldn't properly see all of the giant man in front of him, he thought the man had grinned, because there appeared a crack in his bushy, brownish-black, matted beard.

"Sure yah can! I'm here to take yah to Diagon Allayh! Yer supp'sed to be gett'n your school supplaihs, and I'm 'ere to help yah."

The boy was utterly confused. Not only did the man in front of him jumble and mumble words together, mashing them together, heavy accent lacing every word he uttered, but he looked very much out of place from the dreadful little monotony of Little Whinging, that its occupants ever so enjoyed. He wore a big coat, which was something between the colors of brown and very bleached out dark burgundy, something that was obviously worn out with continued use. Despite the heat of the day, the man showed no sign of prespiration, no sweating or discomfort one would expect if they wore so much clothing on a summer day. The pockets of his coat were bulging with unknown items and it seemed that he had a pink umbrella hanging from the inside of his coat, that much the boy could see with it dangling to the sides with every exagarated movement the giant in front of him made. Giant. That was one word to describe the man. Though the boy had no large experience with the outside world, he knew that this kind of height was... unusual. Abnormal. Freakish, some would call it.

"Diagon Alley? School? I have no idea what you're talking about, sir," the child responded after his pondering was done.

Now it was the giant's turn to look the confused part, "What do yeh meen yah have no idea what I'm talkin' about? And no 'sir' nonsense with me, I'm jus' Hagrid," the name came out as 'agrid', the 'h' being swallowed completely by the man's thick accent, "Haven' you read yer letter?"

"What letter... Hagrid?" the boy spoke the name carefully, not used to older people allowing him to call them by their first name.

The question seemed to infuriate the giant, and for a moment the child had flinched and considered backing away, but the choice was taken out of his hands as the giant laid one of his huge, heavily calloused, hands across his shoulder, making him nearly wince in anticipation of pain, but strangely no pressure was applied to his already bruised flesh.

"Dumbl'dor said this mighta happen'. Dontcha worry, 'arry, I'll sort it out, the lot of 'em," the giant spoke in a jovial tone while now dragging him to the front door of the Dursley home.

Had the child had any more presence of a mind about him about the sudden appearance of the giant, and how he knew his name without the boy telling him, he might have panicked. Instead he went along with the not so subtle angling of his giant... companion.

The giant didn't bother knocking and just flung the door open, pushing them inwards, while he bent down to enter properly in the house. The boy looked at the odd sight as the giant tried not to knock over things in the hallway inside, and how he avoided the light-bulb hanging from the ceiling. Now that they were inside the house, he closed the door behind them and started forming a question on his lips, but a shriek that he recognized as his Aunt interrupted whatever he was about to say.

"YOU! Freak! Couldn't they have sent someone normal looking? Must you expose us all to your freakishness?"

The shrilling tone harmed the child's ears, but he voiced no complaint, knowing that there would be punishment enough for tihs event as it was. No need to add fuel to the fire. If only the giant followed the same logic... but he seemed to have not noticed the tone that the horse-faced woman, standing in the hallway, spoke to him.

"Now a then, I'm here to pick 'im up fer the day and then bring 'im back. Dumbl'dor told me yeh mighta not received the letter the school sent ya, so he, great man he is, told me to give yeh another one when I got 'ere," the giant spoke and his words boomed in the small hallway which barely contained him. Then he spent the next few minutes, searching through his pockets, mumbling something to himself, allowing the boy to look over his Aunt's reaction to the whole thing.

There. Again. There was the fear he had only heard in their words and saw in their eyes. Now it was conveyed throughout her whole body. Fear. And disgust. She looked ready to empty her stomach, one way or the other, onto their lackered wooden floor. The boy fervently hoped she wouldn't do any of it, as it would only mean additional chores for him. His musing about the potential vomit clean up didn't last long, being interrupted by an 'Ah-hah, there's the little bugger!' from the giant which stood in front of him.

The giant then turned, facing the boy again and offering him a crumpled up letter with more than a few spots of ink staining its otherwise pristine white surface. It was pushed into the boy's hands and he couldn't help the inate curiosity in him, looking it over. It had an unusual crest, four beasts, each in a corner; a lion, a badger a raven and a snake. The crest seemed almost alive with how vivid it was, all in color, unlike the ink on the back of the letter. When he turned the letter to read what was on the back he was surprised by the very specific address it had been sent to.

_**Little Whinging, Privet Drive 4, The Smallest Bedroom**_

_**Hadrian Potter**_

It puzzled him. But he paid it no further heed and proceeded to open the letter itself, seeing more than just one sheet of compacted paper inside. On the very first sheet, the following was written:

_**HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY**_

_**Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore**_

_**(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,**_

_**Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)**_

_**Dear Mr. Potter,**_

_**We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.**_

_**Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.**_

_**Yours sincerely, **_

_**Minerva McGonagall**_

_**Deputy Headmistress**_

He read through the letter. Then he read through it again. And again. And another ten times. Trying to find some sense in the whole thing. Finally, he couldn't figure out what it meant, so he asked the obvious question of the person who brought it.

"Hogwarts? Witchcraft? Wizardry? Is this a joke?"

"A joke?! No joke, did yeh think yer mum and dad learn'd it on their own? Not bloody likely, nah, they wen' to 'ogwarts, same as meh."

"Learned what?"

"Why, witchcraf' and wizardry, of course!"

"But...," he hesitated here, not wanting to voice the 'm' word, but saw no way around it, "But magic isn't real."

"Not real? Who told yeh that? It bloody is real, I'm livin' proof of it, aren't I?" and at that he puffed up his chest for some reason, and then continued, "Didn't yah evar experience sumthin' strange? When yah felt angry or excitad, maybe some dishes tremor'd? That's magic, 'arry! Well sort of. Yer too young to do much, 's what we call accidental magic, all the kids do it before comin' to 'ogwarts. And then they all learn—"

"NO!" once more the shrill voice of Petunia Dursley echoed throughout the household, "He bloody will not! It's enough as it is, him being in our house, taking food and money from us to live here, he will not learn that _freakishness!_ I won't allow it!"

The child couldn't help himself, for the first time in a long time what blank mask he had kept around his 'family' had completely slipped, "... you knew?" more of a whisper than a question.

"How could I not? You and your bloody parents. Your whole _kind_, I knew you'd turn out to be like them, despite us trying to raise you as normal people, and not a freak!"

"'ey now! 'arry's no freak!" the giant boomed, sounding for the first time genuinely upset.

"Of course he is, just like his parents, just like all of you are! Just like that senile old fool that left him on our doo—"

"YAH WILL NOT INSUL' DUMBL'DOR IN FRONNA ME!" the giant yelled out and the boy's ears hurt from the volume.

"I will! Get out! Out with you and your blasted freakishnes! Tell that wretched old foo—"

Petunia Dursley never got to finish whatever insult she was going to spout, and found herself looking down the length of a pink umbrella, its tip aiming for her. When she shouted again, or tried to, she found her voice was gone and her face was now etched with abject terror. The fear seemed too much and she dropped down on the floor, blacking out.

The giant now had a look of panic on his face and rushed towards her body, picking her up in one of her hands, and stowing away the umbrella back into his coat, and carrying her over to the couch in the living room. The child followed after them, curiosity still peaked, while his brain tried to assimilate the new information he had heard. _'She knew, she knew, she knew, she knew, she knew, she knew, she knew...'_ it echoed in his head.

The giant was now looking slightly less panicked, but a frown still showed on his face. Then he turned back to the only other occupant of the room standing on his feet.

"It mighta be best if yeh don't mention this outburst of mine to anyone else... uhh I'd rather avoid people knowing, yah know?"

The boy nodded, storing that piece of information away for now. The giant then looked all over the living room, looking for what might endure his weight and in the end had pulled out his umbrella again, pointing it at one of the armchairs, before it molded into a much larger chair, more durable one in front of the child's eyes.

_'Magic...'_

He was still in the daze of thinking about all that had happened, not even feeling himself being guided into one of the other chairs. But he came to, and saw the giant now watching him, before he nodded to himself and muttered something into his beard.

"Righ' then, a bit wors' than expected, but nothing too terribl', ain' it?" the giant spoke once more in that jovial tone, and the boy reasserted control over his face, pulling on the blank mask of politness, "Yah see, 'arry, yer mum was a witch. A bloody brillian' one at that, and yer dad was a wizar', one of the best of his year, though not as good as yer mum, heh! 'ogwarts is the school they both went to and learne' their magic, yah see? Now, yer eleven years old, well eleven years and four days old, but yah get the gist of it. Every child that turns eleven and is magical goes to 'ogwarts. Not a better school in the world fer it, trust me! Dumbl'dor runs the school and he's the best we ever had! Why withouta him, we woulda... ahh, I'll tell yah latter about the whole thing. Now, we best be goin' to Diagon Alley, it's gonna be cramped enuff as it is, no need to stand about 'ere, now is there?"

Most of the things spoken by the giant were heard by the boy, but only a few things stuck. His mother was a witch. His father a wizard. He... he knew his birthday now. Four days ago. He took a peek at the calender on the wall, seeing what date it was today. Four days ago. The thirty-first of July. Before he could contemplate any more, the giant spoke once more, while bringing an odd looking sock from his coat pockets, pushing it forward towards the boy's arms.

"Hold onto this, it's gonna make our trip a bi' faster, Dumbl'dor gave me perm—pers—, he gave me this, yah? Just hold onto it, and we'll be off."

Mind still swirling chaos, the boy performed the requested action and held onto the rainbow coloured sock before being sucked into a whirpool.


	3. Chapter 3

The sensation was beyond odd. It wasn't just like a whirlpool. For one, he didn't get wet and the sense of disorientation that he thought was bound to happen, never came. So he used this moment to look where he was now, while the giant now placed the sock back into his pocket.

They were apparently in a dead end alley, the only way out through a door, which connected to some kind of place with a lot of traffic, if the sounds coming from the other side were anything to judge by. And as he started towards the door carefully, once again he felt the hand of the giant, this time slight pressure applied to make him stop. He turned around and looked at the giant with undisguised confusion.

"Yer goin' the wrong way, 'arry, heh," he spoke and then turned towards the brick wall that stood in front of them. Once more, he pulled out his umbrella, tapping seemingly random bricks in it.

And then it happened. More magic.

The bricks moved out of the way, forming a passage. And beyond it a new world.

If the boy knew what the words 'culture shock' meant, it would have been an apt description for what he was feeling at the moment. There is always, within us all, a preconception about how the world functions. His world had been a much darker place than it would be for children his age. It was a mundane world, grounded in the harsh reality. Now... now he saw something completely unexpected. He stood in the opening for a good minute before noticing that he bricks were slowly starting to from the wall again and jumped out of their way. The giant laughed.

The street ahead was a wonder to behold. As if something that had sprung from the pages of a book of fairytales. Ahead, the cobbled street, countless shops, the bustle of a busy day, people with children, the sounds of various animals in their cages, the noise of... magic.

"Welcome, 'arry, to Diagon Alley!"

The words shook him from the reverie and he saw the people in the street, clearly, for the first time. A moment before they were just shapes in this new world. Now.. now they looked so odd. All of them wore robes, of various colors, and some of the women looked dressed as actual witches from the myths and stories. Pointy hats, long and short black robes, robes of green, robes of blue. Sundresses, vests, coats... a diversity in a sea of fashion that seemed to permeate everywhere.

The thoughts about all the clothing made the boy frown inwardly, remembering that he still wore his cousin's cast-offs, not as horrible as what he had before, but compared to this? It was more pitiful than rags.

He brought up the envelope once more up to his face, now pulling out the second sheet of paper that laid behind his acceptance letter.

_**UNIFORM**_

_**First-year students will require:**_

_**1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)**_

_**2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear**_

_**3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)**_

_**4. One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings) **_

_**Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.**_

_**COURSE BOOKS**_

_**All students should have a copy of each of the following:**_

_**The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) **_

_**by Miranda Goshawk**_

_**A History of Magic **_

_**by Bathilda Bagshot**_

_**Magical Theory **_

_**by Adalbert Waffling**_

_**A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration **_

_**by Emeric Switch**_

_**One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi **_

_**by Phyllida Spore**_

_**Magical Drafts and Potions **_

_**by Arsenius Jigger**_

_**Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them **_

_**by Newt Scamander**_

_**The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection **_

_**by Quentin Trimble**_

_**OTHER EQUIPMENT**_

_**1 wand**_

_**1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)**_

_**1 set glass or crystal phials**_

_**1 telescope**_

_**1 set brass scales**_

_**Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.**_

_**PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS**_

_**ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK**_

_**Yours sincerely,**_

_**Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus**_

_**Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions **_

As he read through the list, nausea threatened to swell up from the pit of his stomach. He looked up to the giant standing by his side.

"I.. I can't afford this. I don't have any money," his voice wavered, losing its practiced stability.

"Sure yah do, there's yer money," the giant bellowed with a soft laugh, pointing forward, though the boy could not see to what he was pointing, the crowd in the streets preventing a clear view, "The wizards bank, Gringotts."

"Bank?" he echoed the word, unsure how he would have any money in a bank, in a place he never knew about. He voiced his question to the giant.

"Well yer mum and dad set it up fer yah, didn't they? Righ' before they... uhh, we'll talk later about this, alrigh'?"

On they went, the giant's size a welcome presence, effortlessly making his way through the crowd and trailing in his wake the eleven year old child.

The shops they went by, the sights his eyes tried to soak up at once... he didn't notice the giant had stopped and walked into him, but he paid it no heed and merely lead the way forward once more. This gave the boy a chance to see what caused the giant to stop in his tracks.

A giant building, seemingly built at odd angles and from the most pristine of marble, pillars lining near its entrance and near the entrance itself... something new. The giant noticed the boy's stare at the small armored figures standing at the entrance, scowling, looking with undisguised scorn on everything that came near.

"Goblins. Clever as they come, but not the most friendliest of beasts," he spoke in a hushed whisper, trying to make sure he was not overheard by the target of his observation.

Goblins. Another myth come to life.

The entrance itself was reached by white stairs, and a set of burnished bronze doors, which now lay open as people made their way in and out of the building. But inside there's another set of doors again on them the boy sees a few words, _'Enter, stranger, but take heed, of what awaits the sin of greed...'_, before they are flung open inwardly.

This hall is quite different from what he imagined. There are wooden stands, some open for business, some closed, but all have at least one Goblin occupying it. These creatures, yellow in coloration of their skin, with beady, often completely black, eyes, their sharpened teeth displayed in grimaces of smiling, their long fingers with talons rather than nails, look more as creatures of war than creatures of economy. Still they toil, the sound of stamping permeating the hall around them.

The two of them reached one of the free wooden stands, where the giant clears his throat to gain attention. The Goblin knows and sees the giant, but ignores him on purpose, enjoying the taunting. It doesn't last very long, appearances must be kept.

"Yes?" a voice drawls from beyond the boy's sight.

"We're 'ere to pick up some money for young 'arry 'ere. 'arry Potter, that is."

A creaking sound occurrs and the Goblin that sits beyond the boy's sight now comes into full view, watching the small child beneath him, his black eyes unblinking. Almost unnoticed, he nods to himself before returning to his seat, but now leaning more forward, staying in the boy's sight.

"And does Mr. Potter have his key?"

"Ooh! Got it right 'ere, nasty little bugger," the giant mumbles to himself as he searches through his pockets, and a few long moments later he shouts out, "Aha! There we go," placing a very small key, small for his hands, on the wooden counter.

"Hagrid, why do you have my key?" the boy asked, trying to supress an anger at the giant, trying to keep from spitting the question out with a cold tone.

The giant looked confused for the moment, and the Goblin emitted some sort of guttural sound, laughter for those who could recognize it.

"Well Dumbl'dor gave it t' me, yah see? Great man he is..." the giant rumbled on with the praises while the boy tried to keep a look of disgust from his face. The giant noticed nothing on the child's face but the Goblin did and smirked wickedly. After all, all of his kind was highly possessive, and for an unknown party to have someone's possession... well, more than one family had been extinguished over such matters.

"Why would he have my key?"

"Well he knew yer mum and did, 'f course he did, back in the day, he was their 'eadmaster too, great man, an'—"

"Why is a Headmaster of a school involved with the private lives of the students?" he asked, having previous experiences teaching him the lesson that the people in charge of schools never cared for the students that attended it. Their only concern was their image. He could still remember the words.. _"— nonsense, the boy just exaggerates."_

The giant looked utterly dumbstruck and the Goblin emitted another one of his harsh, guttural laughters. Oh the child was vicious, cutting straight to the point, untrusting and not letting his questions be deflected.

"Well yah see, 'arry, he's t—"

"Hadrian," the boy spoke, allowing for the first time for the accumulated venom in his heart to seep through his words.

"You what?"

"My name is Hadrian. I saw the letter. I'm not Harry. Hadrian. Harry is—," he stopped himself before blubbering out his unspoken thoughts, _'— is a boy that the Dursleys own.'_

The giant seemed flustered by the sudden change in his behavior and tone of voice, stroking through his beard as if to calm himself, "Well, 'adrian, yer mum and dad were very close to the 'eadmaster, what with all the war goin' on and all that, but I'll tell ya about it all later, we need to get yah to yer vaul'—"

"Sir," Hadrian spoke while now looking at the Goblin and ignoring the giant completely, "Does he need to come along to the vault with me?"

"Not at all, Mr. Potter," the Goblin grinned, allowing his white teeth, in all their sharpened glory, to show, "If you will just follow me, Mr. Potter," the Goblin instructed the boy and without looking back, climbed down from his chair and went towards one of the doors.

Hadrian went after the Goblin while the giant still stood there beffudled at what was going on in front of him. He then tried moving forward, pass the counter, and after Hadrian, but found his path blocked by two vicious looking Goblins whose halberds looked as if ready to be angled at his portruding presence at a moment's notice.

* * *

Past the door that shut out the rest of the bank and the noise of stamping, Hadrian followed the Goblin closely by, the latter not even sparing a glance to see if the boy was near. They came upon another door, this one opening into a dark tunnel. The floor there stood out like a platform before train tracks, except there was no train here. Only a single cart, with a lever peeking out from it. The Goblin came close to the edge of the platform, tapped one of his talons on the cart and two lines formed into a small bridge, which fell down onto the floor, allowing access. The Goblin turned around and grinned at Hadrian, indicating he should go in first.

"Sir, before we go any further, could you tell me what is your name?" Hadrian asked politely, feeling awkward at calling the creature "sir".

The Goblin seemed puzzled for a moment before answering, "Griphook, Mr. Potter, Senior Bank Teller."

Hadrian nodded his head curtly and made his way into the cart. Griphook followed in and the bridge melded back into the cart. Griphook grinned once, looking at the boy, before pulling the lever. Hadrian wanted to scream as the rushing air passed his face, the savage whipping of the speed gluing him to the spot and holding onto the cart's edge.

The journey didn't take long. Griphook left the cart, grinning and savoring the moment, he did enjoy doing this to humans, most of them were uncomfortable with the speeds that they used on carts. And when inevitably one of them would ask if it could go any slower, they'd be told that the cart has only one speed.

"Can it go faster?"

Griphook found himself stunned at hearing these words. He turned back to the boy and watched as a wide grin spread on his face, his eyes glazed over with something. It was a most puzzling situation.

"I'm sorry, I was rude," the boy started over, shaking himself away from the feeling that enveloped him and shook his body to its core, "Master Griphook, can the cart go any faster? It's.. brilliant."

Oh yes, the boy is one of the rare few, "You're a very... unusual wizard, Mr. Potter. Very unusual indeed. Now please, the key," he spoke and extended his hand, and Hadrian remembered that he grabbed the thing from the wooden counter before he made his way down here. He nodded and placed it in the gnarled hand. Griphook promptly turned away as soon as the small bronze key touched his hand, walking away to what Hadrian could see as a large stone wall.

No, not a stone wall. Nothing as bland as that. The surface of it was covered with vines in the rock itself. His thoughts on the wall dissipated once a small 'click' was heard and the vines started moving about. A grinding noise ensued from the wall and there in the middle it split wide open, the stone doors flinging themselves inwards.

And in it... glittering and shining. The boy couldn't believe his eyes. He spent a few moments outside the vault before finally mustering the will to carry on forward. Gold. Silver. More of the former than the latter, though in parts of it some small amount of bronze could be seen. Gold coins, silver coins, bronze coins. His shock at the sight must have been obvious and his mask must have slipped because Griphook grinned that at least one thing managed to stun the young human into a daze.

"This is your vault, Mr. Potter. Vault 687. Currently, there are four thousand galleons, eight hundred sickles and five hundred knuts stored in the vault. Seventeen sickles to a galleon, twenty-nine knuts to a sickle."

"Could you tell me the value of the... galleon, was it, compared to regular money?"

"You mean the Muggle money? One galleon equals roughly to five of British pounds."

"Uhh, what's Muggle?"

Griphook was displeased by this question. It indicated that the young human was kept away from the magical communities that permeated these isles, "Muggles are the non-magical humans, it's a wizarding term invented for them," _'amongst others,'_ he added silently to himself, before continuing, "Mr. Potter, how much do you know about the wizarding and witching world?"

Hadrian was confused, it seemed that the Goblin himself felt odd for asking such a question, but seeing as Griphook was his current and only source of information, he saw no harm in admitting the truth, "Nothing. Until today I didn't know it existed. Or that I was one. A wizard, I mean. The gian— Hagrid just came over today to... where I live and took me here."

The Goblin didn't bother restraining his growling and for a moment it alarmed Hadrian as to what its meaning was. But the Goblin didn't seem willing to elaborate, so the silence continued.

"Master Griphook, how much can I take from here now?" he asked in an uncertain voice.

"You could take all of it if you wished, Mr. Potter, but I wouldn't recommend it."

This truly surprised Hadrian. How was he expected to even cary a small portion of his newfound wealth with him, let alone these stacks of golden coins, which were easily twice or thrice his height? He didn't know he voiced his thoughts aloud, until the Goblin's guttural laugh broke him out of his thoughts.

"Pouches, Mr. Potter. Gringotts Bank issues pouches to clients who have need of a large sum of money. Some of the wealthier clients don't carry money in the pouches, but rather use the pouches as a way of retrieving the desired amount directly from their vaults. You are not eligible for such pouches, due to your status as a minor, but you could easily store up all of the current content of your vault and the pouch would be no bigger, nor heavier than you wanted it to be."

It took a few minutes for Hadrian to process all of this new information. He pulled out the sheet of paper with the list of his school supplies, but frowned when he didn't see any sort of pricing for the items. He had no idea how much money he would need for the school. And how he would hide it from the Dursleys? If they discovered he had any sort of money, they would take it from him. The thought made him growl, not paying any heed to the Goblin who must have overheard it.

"Master Griphook," he began, now facing the Goblin, the school supplies sheet held firmly in his hand, "Do you have any idea how much money would be required for my school supplies?"

"If you would, Mr. Potter," Griphook said and once again extended his hand, taking the offered sheet of paper and looking it over for a few moments, his mind's cogs whirling about and calculating the cost, "You would need approximately two hundred galleons for your school supplies, though I would suggest you take an additional two to three hundred galleons, just as a precaution. It would more than cover your school supplies, and should you wish it so, you could save the extra money to be spread across your school year."

"But couldn't I just come back to Gringotts if I spent the money and refill the pouch?"

"You could if you were older, Mr. Potter. But I'm afraid, from what I know about such things, that the school doesn't allow its students to go past its grounds for anything short of a life or death situation."

"What kind of a school is that? And for that matter, where is it? Is it in London?"

Griphook dearly wished he could tell the guards to disembowl the half-breed oaf that probably still stood in the same spot upstairs in the main hall of their bank. This kind... of negligence was an insult. For the young human's sake, he contained his growling to a minimum, and tried to keep his face from a complete scowl, not wanting to offend or frighten the little one, as it was not his fault.

"Mr. Potter, who raised you?"

Hadrian mused on how the answer the question, but seeing that Goblins, or maybe just Griphook, were rather blunt and direct creatures in their approach, he decided for the same kind of response, "Petunia and Vernon Dursley. Petunia Dursley is.. my Aunt, from my mother's side. Or so I've been told."

"I'm not aware of any witch by the name of Petunia Dursley related to your mother, we have no record of her."

"She's not. A witch I mean. She's a Muggle, as you call them."

"That would explain the lack of knowledge about our world. Muggles aren't the most... receptive kind. Mr. Potter, Hogwarts is a boarding school, of sorts, located in Scotland. You would be effectively spending most of the year in the school, returning to your home only during the summer, or during the Yule holidays. Christmas, I believe the Muggles call that time of the year."

_'A year without the Dursleys...,'_ he dared to hope, "And is there a way to stay to stay at the school over the summer, Master Griphook?"

"I do not know, Mr. Potter, that much is not known to me. You would have to inquire first with the staff at Hogwarts and your magical guardian."

"My what?"

"Magical guardian, Mr. Potter. Surely you don't think that your _Muggle_," the Goblin spat out the word, "relatives have any sway over your place of accommodation? For our world, they're at best, third-class citizens."

Hadrian was pleased by this discovery. But another thought whispered into his ear _'It wasn't an accident which placed you in that hell, it was someone with intent.'_ The thought quickly turned down what little pleasure he had into a sour feeling. Distrust and anger welled up inside of him, and he managed to bite out the words, suppressing as much loathing as he could from his words, "And who is my magical guardian, Master Griphook?"

Griphook blinked once, sensing the hostility emanating from the boy. Though Goblins had a magic of their own kind, nothing alike the ones that witches and wizards used with their sticks of wood, they could still sense it. And right now, he was sure that the boy's magic was crackling in silence, emotions turbulent enough to bring it up to surface. Before he might himself became a victim of an accidental bout of magic, he spoke.

"Albus Dumbledore, current Headmaster of Hogwarts."

* * *

Hagrid didn't know what to do. Harry had left him so suddenly, and acted quite unlike a child of eleven should. He'd tell about this to Dumbledore when he got back to Hogwarts. The Goblins that barred his way forward irritated him, and he huffed in response, as he was unable, and unwilling, to do anything that would be considered a hostile act. He wasn't joking when he said they weren't the friendliest of beasts. Their rebellions might be in the past, but there was no need to test whether they were still as warlike as ever. It had been more than half an hour now and he still had the other job to do, but he couldn't go without Harry by his side. Dumbledore told him to guide the boy through the alley, buying his school supplies with him and to share a few tales about his parents. So he waited in silence, looking uncomfortable, aware of how other people were casting glances at his presence.

It had been an additional fifteen minutes before the Goblin which greeted him today returned back to his counter, and Hagrid grinned at the sight. The grin faltered very soon when the Goblin didn't even address him in any way and there was no sign of Harry following him either.

"Ahem," Hagrid cleared his throat rather loudly, trying to attract the attention of the Goblin, who paid it no heed. He repeated the action, for which he only got told he should venture to the apothecary and see himself getting a potion for his sore throat. Hagrid bristled at the rude dismissal.

"Now listen 'ere, you! Where's 'arry?"

"Who?" Griphook grinned, allowing his teeth to be shown, which the half-breed completely missed out on the meaning of it.

"'arry! 'arry Potter! I came 'ere with 'im, now where is 'e?!" he nearly yelled, which meant for his stature that he did yell in the way normal humans would. The Goblin guards now started slowly advancing towards Griphook, ready to skewer Hagrid if he became more than just a nuisance.

"There's no such person as Harry Potter," Griphook teased the oaf, seeing his face turn an interesting shade of red, "But if you are inquiring about one Hadrian Potter, he has left the Gringotts Bank. Where he is now is his own business."

"Yah can't do that! 'e's just a child, 'e can get lost, 'e doesn't know anything about thi—"

"And whose fault is that?" Griphook snarled back at him, which stunned Hagrid into silence, "Now then, do you have any more business or do you wish to find yourself ejected from this hall by force?"

Mumbling into his beard, something about contacting Dumbledore about the whole thing, he nodded and told him about the other piece of business he had come to Gringotts for.


	4. Chapter 4

After being done with Gringotts, Hagrid rushed out of the building, heading for the Leaky Cauldron to contact Dumbledore about what happened.

If he wasn't in such a rush he might have noticed the source of his concern was standing in one of the shadows near the entrance. Once the boy was certain that the giant, or half-breed oaf, as Griphook so expletively described him, was gone, he could go on about his day. He had checked with Griphook about where he could stay until school starts. He had no wish to return to the Dursleys, as that would be tempting fate. If magic was something that was in his blood, he intended to learn as much as he could, master it, so that no other could have a hold over him like that ever again. And when the time came, he would deal with a meddlesome Headmaster who saw fit to place him in that hell.

Griphook was able to provide him a bit of protection, for a modest fee, to guide him on his way. To Knockturn Alley.

The name alone made him a bit guarded for the place, but Griphook had assured him the charmed medallion, purchased with the funds from his vault, along with the small middleman fee, would obscure him from most people's attentions. A thing which he was proficient in, even in the mundane world, but now with the aid of magic, his presence would remain secret.

When he first inquired about places where he could spend his time until school started, Griphook told him about two notable places. One of them was called _"Leaky Cauldron"_, and was apparently the place that connected Muggle London to Diagon Alley, serving both as a hostel and a travelling point for witches and wizards. But, Griphook told him, that would be the first place that Hagrid, or whoever was sent in his place, would look for him. He could stay hidden in it for about a week at the most, but he would be discovered, if not by accident, then by a simple inquiry to the hostel's owner, Tom.

Then there was the _"Night Bird"_. A less reputable place, found in the farther reaches of Knockturn Alley, which turned out to be a more varied place than its mainstream equivalent. But its darker nature was fairly known and thus the place was avoided by everyone who were disinclined to such shady dealings. A lot more was said about the place, and a lot more could be said yet, but Griphook told him that for the time being, it would not matter, his stay there would be of short duration. Griphook also told him that staying there was not an infallible way of hiding himself, he could still be found by other means, if not by direct sighting. Hadrian was told that it would be best to do his shopping after he settled into one of the two hostels, though it was fairly obvious which of the two would serve him better.

He did have to wait a small amount of time for the medallion on the necklace to be delivered to the bank, which contained a moderately powerful charm which would allow him to pass unnoticed by people. He was also forewarned by Griphook to not take the security measure for granted, as it could still be bypassed by someone fairly powerful should they direct their attentions searching directly for him. As an additional precaution, they had bought a hooded cloak, large enough to conceal his whole body and facial features should the hood be turned up. When he questioned how he would be able to wear it in the summer heat, Griphook had smiled and told him that there were small charms placed on the cloth, insuring it would stay cool in the summer and warm in the winter, should he choose to wear it then. Naturally, this too was deducted from his vault.

As Hadrian made his way through the now lessened crowd of Diagon Alley, he wasn't all quite by himself. Unknown to him, Griphook had employed one of the Gringotts inner guards to go after the boy, and watch so nothing would happen. It wasn't anything done out of decency, Griphook had a stake in the boy after all. If the boy prospered, so would he. It was in his best interest that the boy survived his trip through Knockturn without any harm done to his person. The guard was paid by money from Griphook's personal hoard, a small but signficant fee, and the action hadn't gone unnoticed by his superiors, though it was left unquestioned. They too would see how the events would play out before taking any action. And it helped that they had no taste for meddlesome wizards, of which Albus Dumbledore was the most prominent.

The descent down the stairs from Diagon to Knockturn seemed like such a change. It was obvious to everyone who would step one foot away from the safe and warm atmosphere of Diagon, and one foot into the less colorful, more sparsely populated Knockturn. The shops here had nothing that would stand out in the front, only their signs with their cursive style would inform a potential customer what the shop was named, though not what it sold for. Knockturn's thinking was that if you had no idea what was in the shop, then you had no business there in the first place. A more hostile place it was, but hostility was something that Hadrian had dealt with his whole life so far, and at least this kind of hostility didn't seem as overshadowing as his stay at the Dursleys was.

The trip was uneventful, but exhilarating nonetheless, a new place to roam through, a sense of freedom that was never tasted before. Even in such a shady place, even with the taste of fear on his heart, it would not quench its rapid beating. Though still in the daze of newfound liberty, he kept close watch on his surroundings, avoiding the rare people that he encountered on his way, looking carefully for the sign of the hostel. The outside would be slightly different from the rest of the shops surrounding, but just barely. The only obvious sign would be the wooden board, hanging above the door, and on it a painted image of a skeletal horse with leather, bat-like, wings. Why it was called _"Night Bird"_ in the first place, with such a different sign, was beyond Hadrian's comprehension.

When he did come upon its front, it was exactly as Griphook had described it. The windows were fogged up, whether by neglect or purpose, and the only thing you might be able to perceive was a small glimmer of light from somewhere deep within. The door itself was of a dark grey color, easily melding into its surroundings, but the handle for it was suspiciously clean of any grime, soot or dirt the rest of the outward appearance of the place displayed. He let out a breath he was unaware of holding in, and stepped inside.

And what a difference it was. While no one would ever describe the place as cheerful or overtly welcoming, there was a certain atmosphere to the locale. There were more than a dozen tables, most of them empty so early in the day, with lounges in corners, so neatly shunted to the shadows, providing the small comfort some might seek in here. The lighting was another noticeable thing. It wasn't quite as dark as it would seem from the outside, but it wasn't nearly as bright as the _"Leaky Cauldron"_ might have been. It had just the right amount to let everything be visible, or at least the shape of it visible, and the light from the lamps that hanged from the walls and few spots on the ceiling were comfortable enough so as to not hurt the eyes.

Hadrian had not noticed in his own observations of the place that he too was observed. Though the medallion had provided protection on the street itself, subtle magic woven into the doorway itself had supressed the effects which guarded him on his way to here.

The woman standing behind the bar counter had noticed the small figure entering, and the few customers they had at the moment paid no heed to it. She was most curious as to why a child would wander around in here. Not many would venture into Knockturn, rumors and urban myths keeping the nosey and curios away. Still, she waited patiently for the figure to make a move.

Surprisingly enough, the first movement from the figure was to remove its hood, and she could now easily see that it was a child. A boy. A very young boy, judging by his size. Stranger and stranger. The boy wasted no time when his observation of the place was done and approached the counter at a steady pace.

He looked up at the older woman now watching him, just as he had watched the hostel itself. She had a rather pleasant face, almost heart-shaped, her hair falling down softly in a few bangs from the sides, the other part of it tied in a small, loose bun, her eyes sharp, angular even, and their blue color lightly reflected the lamp's flames. The woman allowed a small grin to show on her face, as she realized that the boy was taking in as many details as he could.

"Yes?" she allowed her voice to slip the words by her lips, trying to appear as motherly as she could without the physical affections, "Did someone here perhaps get lost? Would you like a guide?" she mock-pouted at the child.

He hadn't reacted to her teasing and instead simply informed her, in his childlike, yet strangely firm, voice that he wanted to rent a room until the 1st of September.

"And why would you want that? I think the _"Leaky Cauldron"_ would be happy to have you over there, after all it's much closer and easier to get to King's Cross."

"Easier, perhaps. Safer, not."

"And you think you're safe in here?" she waved off her hand, while moving herself forward, over the counter, until her face was on the same level as the boy, "What made you think you'd be safe here?"

Though the woman appeared hostile, there was a lack of... threat in her posture, in her voice, in her gaze. Hadrian had become adept over the years at detecting those things, as it was another form of survival he had depended upon.

"Griphook," he partly whispered, not wanting anyone else to overhear.

The change in the woman's posture was instantaneous and her eyes took on a glimmer of mirth, her grin becoming genuine this time, "You could have said so from the start, you know. Made it easier on yourself. Well, come along then, after me then," she beckoned with her hand, moving past the bar counter and heading towards one of the door Hadrian didn't notice before when he first came in. He quickly followed after the woman, though still tense. He trusted Griphook, his kind seemed more trustworthy than humans, as the Goblin had an interest in him, but that didn't allow for all tension to dissipate.

Up the stairs, a turn to the left, then another one to the right, a bit forward and he nearly collided with his guide. She noticed that, and flashed him one smile when turning her head to look behind. The hallway they now stood in was properly lit, though some shadows seemed to clung still, unwilling to be expunged by the mere presence of flames from the lamps litter the walls.

A door was pushed in and Hadrian beheld the room. His room. There was a bed, a solid one at that, nothing like the wreck from Privet Drive 4, a writing desk, lacquered in dark brown colors, a closet and a small window which had no latches or knobs to be opened by, yet still it let in sunlight into the room, making it very un-Knockturn like. His room. The thought reverbated throughout his mind and he couldn't help but allow a smile to appear in his face, the first in... who knows how many years.

His guide noticed the boy's soft smile and allowed herself to carry one here as well on her face.

"Does the room suit you?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Yes! How much is it?"

"Normally, I'd charge more, but for you, ten galleons until September. You still gotta pay for food, whether it be breakfast, lunch or dinner if you want some. I'll bring you a menu later on and you can choose what you want from there."

Hadrian nodded, and pulled out the pouch that Griphook provided for him, pushed his hand inside it, thinking hard about the specific amount of galleons requested. He felt something cold and round in the palm of his hand and he closed it. Sure enough, ten galleons lay there on the palm of his hand, nearly spilling out from it. Fearing that it may indeed fall across the floor he quickly shuffled off near the woman and pressed them into her hands.

She didn't need to count, she knew the boy wouldn't try to cheat. And to be fair, she doubted anyone whom Griphook sent here would try and cheat her. The Goblin knew his business; occasionally he'd send some people he had business with towards her hostel, she'd give him a portion of her earnings based on how much the people paid. All in all, a lucrative deal for both of them.

"Right then, there's no specific time for lunch, but if you want to eat downstairs early in the morning, the food is made ready by eight o' clock, sharp. Dinner is served at ten in the evening, and lunch can be at any time between two and four. But first thing's first, before I forget myself. The name is Yvanna, little one," she extended her hand towards the boys.

"Hadrian," he replied, shaking her hand, a bit weakly, not used to physical contact with others.

"Hadrian...?"

"Just Hadrian."

"Well, Just Hadrian," she mocked playfully, "Anything on the agenda or do you want me to bring you a lunch menu now? I'm not needed at the counter now, one of the kitchen boys took my place before we left."

"Nothing for the moment," he shook his head, "I have to go out, I just wanted to get a room first."

"School supplies?" she asked and received a nod in reply, "Well alright, here's your key, don't lose it, otherwise that's an extra galleon from your pouch to replace it."

Yvanna left the room promptly and he stood only a moment longer inside before leaving it himself.

* * *

Coming back into Diagon Alley proved to be more taxing for his body than it was descending into Knockturn. Only when he had reached one of the various shops with some odd food did he realize why it was so. He hadn't eaten yet that day and this much exertion was uncommon for him, though not as strainful as his chores. It was more likely the mental strain rather than the physical strain which slowed his walk around Diagon Alley, but he pushed on anyway. The first obvious stop for him was getting some clothes as the cast offs he wore made him feel very filthy in this brand new world he had discovered. He looked about the street before noticing a sign for a clothes shop, _"Madam Malkins"_, a pair of giant scissors, cutting at nothing and suspended in the air, served as the shop sign.

Stepping into the shop he was grateful there was no other children inside it, he felt no need to share the shame or knowledge of his poor clothing. Not a moment after he had stepped inside, an older woman, Madam Malkin he presumed, stepped around the counter, made her way towards him and with just one question _"First year at Hogwarts, dear?"_ and his nod as reply, she pushed him towards the back, past the pair of curtains and into a dressing room of sorts. Looking around, he saw that the woman didn't step inside the room with him, but before he could voice a question about it, the meter tape he hadn't noticed immediately rose from the ground on its own and started taking his measures. Around the arms, around the waist, circling his legs, below the armpits.. the whole thing. At one point he had to remove his cloak, as the tape continued squeezing about him repeatedly, and the action made it stop, as it finally got the accurate readings it was after.

He left the shop with a brand new white shirt, black trousers, a pair of black shoes and a regular robe, of dark green coloring, as Madam Malkin convinced him the color would fit in well with his eyes. All of his old clothing he left in the shop, where presumably they were burned away, as no one should be forced to wear such abominable excuses for cloth. The rest of his Hogwarts clothing supplies waited for him back in the shop, as he didn't realize that he would need a trunk to carry all the items on his own, though he did pay for all of it before leaving the shop.

The shop with a various assortment of trunks was thankfully only two shops below the clothing one, but picking one trunk was a tricky piece of business. On one hand, he wanted to be done quickly with his shopping today, fear of possible discovery and subsequent return to Dursleys still present in his heart. But on the other, the man that owned the store kept on talking about what all the children nowadays wanted to have charmed on their trunks. In the end he had spent more than a hundred galleons on a single trunk, though the money would prove to be well spent once he became acquainted with the various charms cast on the thing itself. The most expensive charm on it was the automatic shrinking and feather-weight charm. He would need a wand for that though, the man had told him, and it would require a specific set of taps for each of the charm. Other than that, the trunk was fire-proof, water-proof and it allowed him to key in a specific password, refusing entry to all who didn't know it. Inside of the trunk itself was another piece of magic, allowing for expanded space, though nothing overtly huge, but still unimaginably large for Hadrian, who had just earlier in the day known nothing of magic and what it can do, so his books, robes and other supplies wouldn't sit on top of each other.

He decided however that the issue of the wand would be settled last, as he witnessed Madam Malkin tapping his trunk, once the new clothing was stored inside, allowing him to carry it far easier around. He thanked her for it and left an additional five galleons behind, as a small tip for services rendered. He knew that people responded well to extra money, Muggle or otherwise, for it had been one of his foolish dreams, while stuck in Dursley hell, that he would one day somehow gain enough money to move out with outside help, which he'd bribe into doing. He never once indulged the naive fantasy that someone would help him out of the goodness of their heart, those kinds of fantasies had no place there.

So on he went, buying all of the books and the few specific pieces of equipment that the sheet suggested. And now it was time for his wand. When he did ask one of the passing adults where he might go and buy one, they pointed him towards a shop that his eye had previous missed. Ollivanders.

There it said, proudly etched above the doorway.

_**Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.**_

Whether this particular shop had been here for such a long time or whether it was just the time the particular family had been in business, he did not care. All he wanted was the wand. The things he saw that the people in Diagon Alley did with these thin sticks of wood enthralled him and soon he'd own one himself. It would be one tool of his liberation from the Dursleys. They would not dare to touch him when he returned the next summer from school, if he failed to worm his way into staying in Hogwarts over the summer break.

The shop itself had an unusual scent to it. Musky, you could call it. It had the faintest scent of very old things. Parts of the shop were covered in a fine layer of dust, though the floor itself, the shop's counter and several nearby glass casings were kept completely clean. The walls themselves were hidden by countless numbers of boxes, which contained wands, all waiting on their witch or wizard to come nearby and grasp them fully, making them both whole in the process. Amidst all this things, one thing was missing. The shopkeeper.

Hadrian spun around, looking about where the man might be, even shouting out a _"Hello"_ into a hallway that he could glimpse beyond the counter. Before he could let out another loud inquiry as to anyone was in the shop, a man sprang up from beyond the counter, his frazzled white hair going in every direction but down, piercing blue eyes taking in every detail of his new customer.

"I've been expecting you one of these days, Mr. Potter," his raspy voice, with a dream-like quality, came out and he turned his back onto Hadrian, whose heart was beating wildly know at being recognized by a man previously unknown to him, "It seems only yesterday that your mother and father were in here buying the—"

"Are you always like this?" he snapped at the elderly man, appearing perhaps abrasive and rude, but Hadrian didn't care. He had enough of strangers talking about some life that he never knew about, and he didn't come here to be reminded of parents that he didn't even remember.

"Yes, always," the man replied, his tone unchanged, and vanished for a moment from sight before reappearing again, holding a box in his hands for a moment, and then opening it and thrusting the thing at Hadrian, "Go on, take it."

Hadrian looked at the wand inside the box, and barely touched it when the box itself was snatched away and another brought back, again with the instruction to reach for it. And another. And another. He had no idea how much time had passed, but his body was now feeling the full brunt of the day and his stomach growled more than earlier, as it panged for some sustenance. The counter was littered with opened and unopened boxes, all of their wands still in. After a while, the elderly looking man, Ollivanders he presumed, showed up again, but this time without a box in his hands.

"I'm afraid, my boy, that I don't have a wand for you," he spoke, his tone changed now, and Hadrian's heart felt a pang.

"But there's other boxes, other wands we haven't tried. What about the boxes on the walls? I bet you have more in the back," he tried half-reasoning, half-demanding with the man, his urgency and panic disregarding his survival instincts that always forced him to be the quiet one, the subdued one around adults

"I told you, boy, I don't have a wand for you. None of the others in the boxes are willing to try. It's the wand that chooses the wizard or witch, Mr. Potter, not the other way around. I'm afraid you'll have to go... to another shop," the last three words sounded almost like the man was fighting to voice some disgust. He paid no heed anymore to Hadrian and vanished once more, leaving the boy alone in the shop.

Hadrian was furious. He was afraid. No wand. No wand. No wand. No wand. The thought echoed inside his hand maddeningly, while his feet took him back into Knockturn, where the crowd, where the sight of other people with their wands wouldn't bother him as much. The charmed medallion did his work, even beyond the parameters it was set to, as the emotions brought out the boy's magic, suffusing it with his own hidden desire to not be seen, to not be noticed. The boy didn't notice anything of it.

* * *

Yvanna had noticed Hadrian coming back in, towing a trunk behind him on small wheels, and almost went to greet him coming back in. But she noticed his face, he didn't even bother with having the hood on while he was in Knockturn. While she knew it didn't matter while he was in her hostel, outside of it it wouldn't be pleasant for him to be spotted, a child in Knockturn always made certain kinds of people overtly curious, and she was certain the boy wanted to avoid all attention. For the moment however, she would give him his peace. He looked like he needed it.

Couple of hours later, she had no order come down from the boy's room. She was certain the boy saw the menu, she left it on the pillow itself so he couldn't miss it. And though she would not admit it out loud, she was certain the boy couldn't skip out on a meal just like that. When she first saw him earlier in the day, she had thought him much younger than eleven years old, the required age for Hogwarts, he was far too small, too diminutive for his age. Having had some personal experience with that in the old country, she didn't like the implications behind it. Silently cursing herself for interfering in someone else's business, she justified it to herself by him being a child. He might have wandered into Knockturn, on Griphook's recommendation, but it didn't make him any more older than he was. He was still just a child, and gods be damned if she'd let a child slip through the cracks, this world had more than enough of them.

She did knock on the door, but no answer came, though the wards informed her there was someone in the room, behind locked doors. Figuring it was just a waste of time to simply stand there, she took her wand out and flicked the door open, closing them again once she was inside. The sight that greeted her was most odd. She had expected perhaps reddened cheeks, tear-streaks on the boy's face, but the absolute blankness that stood there instead disturbed her far more. The trunk he dragged up the stairs laid there on the floor, unopened, and he was still wearing his cloak. The whole thing made her feel uncomfortable. Who was she to comfort a child? A child that she never even saw before today. But she still did it. She did it, because she knew it was a thing that needed to be done and best be done quickly.

Hadrian barely felt her presence, his mind retreating into the familiar state of nothingness where nothing from the outside could reach him. He was safe in the maze of his own mind. He would ignore the insults and abuse hurled his way, when he locked himself up, it was just another piece of inconsequential things that just happened to pass him by. But he never counted on something else happening. His stone maze was crumbling away and he couldn't figure out why. The moment he tried pushing up new walls, new dead ends, new corners where he could trap some fleeting emotion, it would dissolve. And so he was brought out from his mind by the most unexpected of things. There were no tears, no sobbing, no tremors, no wailing. He didn't know the appropriate response for whatever was happening, but as best he could tell, he was being hugged. He saw it happen to others, but it was an anomaly to him, as strange as a desert was to a fish, something he never dwelled upon or even considered being relevant in his existence. It brought him out of his mind, so it served its purpose and a bit of tension was leeched from his rigid posture.

"Come on now, tell Yvanna what's wrong," she spoke gently, with genuine affection in her tone, slowly pulling away from the boy, fearing whether she might have acted too forward with the boy.

"It's...," he started, as if woken from a dream, "The wand. I didn't get one. Told me none of them would choose me."

Yvanna chose that moment to quirk an eyebrow up, "Who told you?" she asked before realizing who it must have been and bursting into laughter promptly, while Hadrian watched the unusual display of mirth happening in front of him, "Olivanders did, didn't he? Shows what he knows. I bet he even barely said about going to another place, didn't he? No, no need to answer, I know he did. Did the same thing to me. You do know there's other shops right? One's even nearby, run by a distant cousin of mine. Well, cousin might be a rather loose use of the word, we're family of sorts. Everyone is family, back in the old country," she waved the whole thing off, before snapping back to watching him with intent, "Now come along, you're going downstairs with me, and you aren't coming back here until you've been stuffed with so much food until you're ready to burst at the seams. No arguments!"

That's how he spent the remainder of that day, listening to insignificant chatter from Yvanna and for the first time, for as long as he could remember, eating until he couldn't eat more. Tomorrow. She promised him that tomorrow she'd take him to her cousin, Vladimir, to look for a wand of his own. He dared to feel some hope. He dared to feel some trust for another person in his life.

* * *

She kept her word to him. First thing in the morning, a bit before breakfast, she came into the room, knocking first, naturally, letting him have a bit of morning stew and some light pudding before they went out. Before they went out, she spoke in her native tongue to one of the girls that worked in the kitchen to take her place behind the bar for a short while. Then she flashed a smile to Hadrian so bright that he couldn't help himself but flash one in return. It was an odd sensation, to hope. It lifted him so high up. He wore the cloak once more and the medallion, though Yvanna seemed to be unaffected by it completely, even when they exited her hostel.

The shop was indeed close by, as Yvanna mentioned last night, and when they entered it, Hadrian couldn't help but compare how different it felt and looked in comparison to Ollivander's. Ollivander's shop was ordered, it had the scent of things never changing inside it... while this, this shop was far more spacious, one could almost say that it had a sense of chaos about it. The walls weren't blocked out by rows and stacks of boxes filled with wands. In fact, there wasn't a single box in sight. A few glass cases, yes, but nothing more. The counter was littered with some tools, the other few desks as well, yet for all its bareness the shop still seemed more comfortable than the one in Diagon Alley. If Yvanna hadn't led him here, he would have never guessed this might be a place to get his own wand. His thoughts about how he might get a wand of his own here were interrupted by rather loud footsteps, coming from the back of the shop, getting closer with every step.

And from the back came one of the largest men he'd ever seen. Nothing like Hagrid, nothing so inhuman... this man was very much human, both tall and wide, resembling the Muggle Saint Nicholas, though with a much darker beard, flecked with strands of grey.

Upon sighting who his visitors were, the man bellowed out a laugh, full of earnest joy, and hopped across the counter, which Hadrian fully expected to crack and crumble under the man's weight, rushing towards them.

"Yvannichka!" he yelled out as he embraced the woman in a bear-like hug, saying out other things along, in the same tongue as Yvanna used earlier today. It took more than a few minutes before the bear of a man let her down and calmed enough to notice the other visitor to the shop, now eyeing them both before speaking out with a thick accent "Yvannichka, is this your little one? Where have you been hiding him all this time? Why did you not bring him to his uncle Vladimir?"

"Vlad, stop it. He's not my little one. Gods blood, you would have noticed if I was pregnant, wouldn't you? Even you can't be that drunk all the time."

The man huffed in indignation at the accusal, but deflated after Yvanna poked him in his protruding belly with one finger, once more breaking into laughter, this one thankfully quieter than the last one, thus sparing Hadrian's eardrums, "Okay, okay, I believe you. But you should be getting a little one, Yvannichka, I have no one to spoil rotten, and I won't be bound for this world forever, now will I? Bah, don't give me that lemon look of yours, I'll control myself for now," he calmed the flustered woman in front of him, once again engaging her in a quick chat in their native tongue, which sounded as guttural and harsh as he himself did at first sight, "Ah, I see," he grinned and turned towards Hadrian now, "Here to get your wand? Old goat's wands too delicate for your hands, eh? No matter, leave the old goat and his words behind, they are as empty and meaningless as his head. But come, we won't stand here in the front, let me just put up a closed sign so we don't get disturbed."

Vladimir did what he spoke of and then went behind the counter again, this time moving around it, rather than jumping across it, beckoning them with one of his large hands. Seeing the nod and smile lined out on Yvanna's face, Hadrian followed close by the two until they came upon a doorway which lead into a workshop of sorts. There were a number of desks, littered with various blocks of wood and glass jars containing many strange looking things, ranging from feathers, horns, wings, to rocks of uncommon shapes. But that was not all the room contained, as in one of the corners an open furnace was shown with bellows beneath it, to better stoke the flames.

"Come here, little one," Vladimir beckoned once more, tapping lightly on the stool in front of the desk that had the blocks of wood on it. So Hadrian got up on the stool, his feet clinging to the stool's legs, trying not to tip over, "Now, run your hand, palm facing down, across this table and tell me when you feel something."

He looked at the man, confusion showing up on his face for a short moment, before bringing out his hand from underneath the cloak and over the table. Almost instantly he felt something tingling, almost electrifying his palm, before his hand clamped down on a dark, near pitch-black piece of wood. Vladimir grinned at the boy's reaction.

"Good, we finished that one fast, eh? Ebony, heh? Just like your hair, little one. It suits you. Now hop down from there and let's go on the other table," Vladimir turned and made his way to the other table, arranging all the glass jars he could carefully so they don't tip each other or fall over. Hadrian followed suit, and climbed up on the stool, sitting down and running his hand across the table, without being instructed this time to do so.

His cheerful mood from moments ago evaporated soon enough, the grin faltering and disappearing once he had run his hand across the whole table. Looking up to Vladimir he expected to see disappointment or anger, but instead the man still grinned and merely muttered something in that tongue of his, before leaving the room quickly enough. Hadrian turned to Yvanna who had watched the whole thing.

"It's alright, Hadrian. He's just gone to fetch some more samples, this isn't all he keeps in the shop," she spoke gently, assuaging the boy's fears.

Vladimir returned promptly with a rather large trunk held in his hands. He placed it down, near the table that Hadrian was sitting at, before clearing out the already tested ones. He wasn't too graceful with handling them, but nothing was broken and soon he was pulling out almost double the amount of samples from the trunk, lining them up.

Once more, Hadrian moved his hand, palm facing the jars, but this time with more trepidation, fearing a repeat of last performance might happen. His fear proved unfounded as when somewhere past the half of the desk his hand felt the familiar tingling, though slightly more intense, and he restrained his hand from shooting out, worried that he might break the glass container. When he did place his hand around the glass jar, he felt warmth being infused through his hand, into his arm and down the rest of his body. A shiver ran down his spine and he nearly choked at the sensation this had brought out, it was a completely unfamiliar thing to him that he could not identify.

Hadrian was unaware that he had closed his eyes previously, but snapped them open when he heard the sound of whistling coming from his right. Vladimir still had a smile on his face, though it looked more subdued now, and looking at Yvanna she had a mixture of confusion and curiosity etched on her face. While they were still like that, Hadrian took a closer look at the glass jar that his hand was enveloped around; it seemed to contain a strangely shaped rock, which looked very un-rock like, yet its calcified nature couldn't be denied. For all intents and purposes, it was a rock.

Vladimir reached out with his hand, carefully prying the jar away from Hadrian's grasp, and he hesitantly let go of the thing.

"Little one and Yvannichka wait outside, I work my craft now, better when alone, more focused, shoo now, little one."

And so Yvanna led Hadrian back to the front of the store, where they sat in silence for a few minutes, while Vladimir plied his craft. It was Yvanna who broke the silence.

"Hadrian... how much do you know about your parents?" she asked him, while restraining herself from coming near the boy and holding him in a motherly embrace, a thing unfitting for a women her age.

He seemed surprised by the question, and if it were any other person he might have dodged the question, but for a strange reason, he felt that this might be a person who could confide in and perhaps learn more about his past. He had no intention of hearing the tales that would be spun by that oaf that dragged him so unceremoniously into this world, him and his annoying praises for an old man who left Hadrian in hell.

He shook his head, as if to indicate to an answer, before his voice responded to her question, "Not much. I only know they're dead."

Yvanna frowned at this, how could someone know so little of their parents. So she pushed forward when nothing more was said, "Hadrian, what is your last name?"

Again, he felt the twinge of uncertainty, but he pushed it down, wetting his lips before replying, "Potter. I'm Hadrian Potter."

She knew the name, she remembered how hectic and garbled the press in the magical communities was back then, always printing out editions at odd times, because no one could keep up what was happening from one moment to the next. Potter. The name itself, the bloodline, the family, was rather well known in the wizarding world. A bit more so at the end of the last war, as the whole family was presumed to be decimated in one of the attacks that happened in nineteen-eighty-one. Looking back on it, the Goblins spoke nothing about the line being extinct, who were the only ones with the official power to do so. Nonetheless, the public thought the family was gone for good, one of the many victims lost in the war. She didn't know more than the basics, so Yvanna would have to look up records of that particular year and see what had happened, she was only vaguely aware of the events from that year.

"I know only some things about your parents or rather the Potter family," Hadrian looked at her, confusion plainly shown on his face, "They were a fairly known family in our world, but it's been a long time now and most people thought the family extinct... I'll need to look this up. I can't remember exactly what happened, but I promise I'll find out and tell you about it, alright?"

The confusion was gone from his face, replaced with a no small amount of curiosity. Why would his family be known in this world? He wasn't aware he had voiced the thought aloud.

"You weren't raised by a magical family, were you?" Yvanna asked him in a soft voice, and he could only give out a shake of his head as an answer, "Filthy Muggles, can't do one thing right, _scum_," she spat out in a tone of voice which both surprised and pleased Hadrian, for it seemed she had no love lost for the Muggle kind, and since his sole experiences with the Muggles, as he started to call them as well, were far from pleasant, he had found a place in his heart festering with venom. Maybe other Muggles would have been kinder to him, maybe they wouldn't have treated him like property, worse than you would treat a dog, but those were foolish maybes. He had what he had and there was no going about it.

This time Yvanna didn't restrain herself, and approached the boy, going past him and then pushing him back into her soft embrace. She noticed him flinching and felt his body tense up at the moment her hands fell on his shoulders. She dearly wished she had a name of the filth that made him like this, curses would fly from her wand faster than you could blink. A growl was welling up in her throat but was pushed down, knowing there was a time and place for these things, and at this moment, the boy didn't need to hear it, lest he misunderstand her reason for it. So she held him there, her hands clasped across his chest, eased into the plush cloth of her dress, feeling the need to coo to the child, to settle him down. Not all of his tension did vanish, but after a while, some of it was gone and he allowed himself to be lulled into the unknown thing he had never experienced before.

This was how Vladimir found them, and for once he restrained what else might have come out of his mouth at the sight, teasing his dear Yvannichka and how beautiful she looked while she comforted the boy. He didn't need to know what happened while he was back in the workshop, crafting the wood, carving it with minute detail into what the boy would need. The core on the other hand gave him some trouble, the blasted thing would not let itself be liquified for insertion into the wood itself, and there was no sure way of cutting off a piece of it and then making it mold into the hollowness of the ebony. He had to resort to using _Fiendfyre_ on a small scale before it was melted down. Liquified cores were not the norm, he knew. That goat that went by the name of Ollivander would call it unstable, for reasons of his own. The truth is it wasn't unstable at all, just a tad more temperamental, it would meld completely with the wand's outer shell, and if somehow the wand were to explode, the consequences for the one that held it in his hand would be fairly hurtful, if not downright fatal.

He made one of his steps into the front of the shop purposely loud, so that Yvanna would hear him and gently remove the boy from her embrace. He knew what boys were like, no matter how much such a thing might have been enjoyable, none of them would particularly like to be seen in situations like this by others. Fortunately, it seemed the boy thought it had gone unnoticed and showed no obvious sign about it, other than a more relaxed look on his face. Vladimir instantly let the grin he was feeling flow back into his face. He came close to the boy and performed a mock bow, got down on one knee and presented the wand to the boy's eyes and hands for inspection.

Hadrian looked at the polished black surface of his wand and couldn't help but feel joy at the sight. The wand itself was on the thinner side, the tip of it more sharp than what he saw back in Ollivander's store on most of the wands he tried, making it look more branch-like, as if it was something grown rather than just man-made. He now held the piece of wood in both of his hands, running his fingers across its length, enjoying the tingling sensation that was conveyed through their tips. It was obvious which part of the wand was to be held in his hand; a thicker, more rounded end of the black wood was where he grasped it with his palm and once more the familiar sense of warmth flowed through it and into him. He couldn't help but let slip out a word that echoed in his head, "Beautiful..."

He was brought out of his daze by Vladimir's clasping his hands together and emitting another round of laughter, "Good, good, see, I knew it would be so. The wand may choose the wizard, but it's you that needs to feel comfortable with it. Tell me, how does the handle feel? Is it perhaps too slippery? I avoid carving any sort of grip on it, it marrs the wood."

"Just a bit. But I won't let it slip away," Hadrian replied.

"Of course you won't, still, let me look for something first," and then Vladimir went to one of the glass cases, tapping it in an odd rhythm before it popped open and he removed something from it, promptly closing down the case again. When he returned in front of Hadrian in his hands he held another piece of wood, slightly lighter in coloring, and angled at odds with the straight wand it was meant to be combined with, but etched with carvings on it, vines intertwined with each other with exquisite detail. He nodded towards the boy and extended a hand, obviously asking for the wand, to which Hadrian almost didn't respond, he didn't want to part with his wand so soon, but in the end he acquiesced and gave Vladimir what he asked of him.

Despite how large Vladimir's hands seemed, they had no trouble with carefully holding the delicate wand, easing it into what Hadrian now perceived was the handle of his wand. For a moment it seemed like it would not fit within the crevice of the handle, but Vladimir tapped the handle once and muttered something in the same unknown tongue from before, and the wand slid fluidly into the new grip. He gave it back to Hadrian now, who held his wand in the open palm of his hand, admiring the grip itself and noticing how it didn't diminish the initial feeling of warmth he felt from the ebony wood. He mustered enough will to speak two words to the man that had made this for him.

"Thank you."


	5. Chapter 5

Vladimir had tried to not mention anything about paying for the wand, but Hadrian wouldn't have anything of it and when they left Vladimir noticed twenty galleons laying on the counter, for which he reprimanded him later on in the day when he came to visit the hostel. The days went fast by then, and Hadrian tore into his books, looking up spells and how to perform them. At first it needed a concentrated effort of at least a few hours of practice, continuosly moving his arm in the specific movements, for which he had to adjust slightly due to the lower angle of the wand's handle, until they felt sore. He'd pick up the menu at random times of the day, tapping with his wand's tip on the specified food. At first it was a culinary experiment of sorts, as the food here was quite different than what was available back in the Dursley household. He decided he enjoyed black pudding the most of all, and Yvanna always smirked when she saw him eagerly devouring it. The smirk had vanished after a few days of repeat performance and she had started correcting him on his table manners. To say they were slovenly would be a euphemism. It had taken the better part of his stay there until he at least had some semblance of manners while eating, and though she would never punish him in any form, Hadrian would nonetheless feel a tinge of shame burning inside whenever verbally reprimanded.

During the stay he had learned the reason for the peculiar name for the hostel. Apparently, a friend of Yvanna had picked up a nasty habit of bird watching and would always try to drag her off to see some of the birds she was obsessed with. Though Yvanna would not speak it to her friend, she was impressed by some of the sights they saw, but still saw the whole thing as more trouble than worth, as they'd always return caked in mud and dirt. One of these trips ended up leading them into a rather large forest, though they didn't venture much in, on the lookout for some bird species which was said to be nocturnal. What they found was not a bird at all, and got nearly trampled in the process. The creatures they saw instead were Thestrals, the very same animal that was painted on the sign outside the hostel. So as a private joke between friends, the place got named _"Night Bird"_ when it eventually opened up. When Hadrian inquired more about Thestrals and asked Yvanna about taking him to see a few, she would always firmly respond _"No"_. It had taken more than three days for her finally to give in and tell him why she always refused his pleas. It seemed that Thestrals were Dark creatures, carnivores, though not necessarily dangerous to human, and especially not to a witch or wizard who had their wands by the ready, but the trouble with them was the issue of finding them. Many people would go through their entire life, never seeing a Thestral. And they'd be considered fortunate, as the only way you could see Thestrals in the first place was if you witnessed someone dying. It didn't need to be a violent death, it could be an older relative dying from age or disease. It could be anything, but their common association with death itself and the fact that they were Dark creatures made the beasts themselves always avoided by the general public. Hadrian wisely kept his mouth shut and never asked whose death Yvanna had witnessed. He understood people had secrets, he had secrets of his own, after all.

But the secrets weren't meant to last, it seemed. He knew that Yvanna could at the very least guess what happened to him in the Muggle abode in which he previously lived in. She had never asked him to see the bruises, to see his broken and diminished body, but she would always slip in a nutrient potion, a bone-mending elixir and an all-around general purposes healing potion. The first he had to drink before taking any meal in the day, the second before bed-time and the third had no specific time interval that demanded its intake, he could gulp it down any time of the day. Yvanna told him she would look into either spells or potions which might help with his eyesight, which was quite horrendous and it made him blind as a bat when he didn't wore the glasses. The glasses themselves were thankfully replaced, Yvanna had sent out an order, by owl of all things, for a brand new pair of glasses, similar in appearance to the old ones he had, but these ones were unblemished and they would never fog-up, would never be broken and could not be taken off by anyone other than him. The last she added because he had the unfortunate habit of tripping around while getting his bearings around the hostel and the glasses would fly off his nose too easily. He paid for it all, despite that he knew that Yvanna would have bought him all these things, and never mentioned a price to him, but he would not allow it. For the first time in his life, he could afford things, and he would not be indebted to anyone, no matter who the person might be.

The books he had bought from the shop _"Flourish and Blots"_ didn't last him long. He hadn't gone over them all, but settled down to reading the selected few, the basic book of spells, the one about potions, then the defense one... of the three, the potions schoolbook interested him mostly. He had witnessed how much change could potions bring to himself, and they would be a useful tool in the future, so he'd read through the whole book, multiple times. Yvanna had noticed him often coming down to dinner, sitting at the bar counter, nose in book, while the stew slowly grew colder while he ignored sustenance of the physical in exchange for sustenance of the mind. She had taken to summoning the book right out of his arms to make him focus on eating that was in front of him.

The thing that pleased him the most weren't the spells he learned from the books, but rather the simple household charms that Yvanna herself taught to him. How to keep his clothes clean, how to vanish stains or spillage from his food, how to straighten out his clothes... He had also wanted to learn a spell which would help him tame his crow's nest of a hair, but such was his luck that Yvanna would tease him about it and recently had taken to muffing through his hair with her fingers, ruffling it about. But to be fair, it could hardly look worse than before, so his complaints were kept to a minimum, though he did feel very undignified whenever she did it to him. Both Vladimir, who had taken to visiting the hostel more often than he had before, and Yvanna, who could easily see the reason for his increasing visits, had told him to let his hair be, it would be best tamed if he grew it out. Then he could tie it up in any way he wanted and keep most of it subdued. The thought had not crossed his mind before, his hair had always been kept short by the Dursleys who would merely shear him to the basics with scissors and leave him like that.

One evening, nearing the end of that fateful August, Yvanna had snorted at the sight of the worn out book in Hadrian's hands, but didn't elaborate on what the snort meant, so the boy ignored it. The tomorrow day greeted him with a surprise however. Yvanna had apparently gone out somewhere and one of the girls was at the counter, with whom Hadrian had only exchanged common courtesies so far. He'd settled into rereading about one of the potions in his book when it suddenly flew out of his hands and right across his shoulder, into the waiting hands of Yvanna, who had worn a sundress combined with her outer robes, in her recognizable dark mahogany and dark green colors.

"No reading before eating, I tell you that every time, and every time I have to pull it out of your hands before you eat," she shook her head in mock-reprimanding, "Look at the poor thing, you wore it out so much."

"Hey now, it's not my fault that it's so interesting, you can't expect me to take all those vials you force down on me and not read up on what they are," he teased her and the mock reprimand on her face was replaced by an earnest smile.

"Ah, but I'm just a poor witch, on who else can I experiment on if not my favorite little guest? The experiments will have to wait for now, I have something for you," she teased back and only then he realized that one of her arms was behind her back, so he waited in silence, until she broke down, "Oh you're no fun. I can't even make you act like a proper child, you do realize that that everyone else would be simply dying to know what I might have back here?"

"Yes, well, we all have our little problems."

"Oh, your words wound me, little one. Oh fine, if the hippogrif won't come to the stable, then I'll chain it and pluck its feathers then and there," she giggled, while now on approach towards Hadrian at the bar. Her arm snaked its way from her back and in it she held a book. Confusion must have shown on Hadrian's face as she answered his unasked question, "Since you're so eager to ruin what little books you have, I've decided to gift you with either a belated or early birthday gift, depending which is correct."

"It's already passed..," Hadrian whispered as his eyes took in the sight of the book and its title, hands twitching, wanting to grab it.

"Belated it is then! Happy birthday, Hadrian!" the older witch grinned, laying a single kiss on the boy's cheek, then pressed the book into his waiting hands. He had barely muttered out a nearly silent _"Thank you"_ before his eyes became glazed over with intense concentration as he looked through the index of the book. Within a moment's notice, the book flew right out of his hands and back into Yvanna's, "I told you, eating before reading, not the other way around!"

* * *

The day had come. The first day of September. In a small part of him, he wished to never leave this small place. This hostel, where he was safe from the world. But he knew it would be folly, he knew he needed the knowledge to survive. To survive both this world and the world that awaited him should he not procure a stay at Hogwarts over the summer.

Yvanna did something he didn't expect of her at all. He imagined that he'd have to make his way to King's Cross and the Platform Nine and Three Quarters, as the instructions in his acceptance letter said. But instead, Yvanna once more called out for someone to replace her at the bar counter and told him she'd take him there herself. And though he was used to her behavior by now, he was still unused to kind gestures from people. His distrust might have lessened when it came to Yvanna, but it was still there.

So he dragged down his trunk, dressed in the same cloth, cleaned out last night before bed-time, that he bought at Madam Malkin's as replacement for the rubbish that he wore beforehand. And there, in the customer-void room of the hostel, stood Yvanna. Today she chose a different garment, it looked more... traditional, was the word that came to mind. She even had a wicked looking pointy hat, similar to appearance as the witches from Muggle stories. Though her robe-dress was of dark coloring, it wasn't all black. Trims of silver, parts of green, interwove themselves through the fabric that she wore. Her dark brown hair shimmered splendidly, and formed into luscious locks rather than the bangs and bun he first saw her with. Yvanna mock-curtsied to Hadrian and extended her hand to him. He took it and with a single _pop_ they both vanished from the room.

As he sat there in that compartment by himself, holding the book, his first birthday gift, in his hands, he couldn't help but wonder about which House he might be sorted into. Yvanna had told him about each of them, and though she said any House would be proud to have him, she had expressed, with a snort, a sneer and a smirk, that some of them would chafe. She had teased him there on the platform that she expected to see him next summer again, in silver and green or perhaps silver and blue. Having read through additional books about the wizarding and witching world, especially the ones concerning Britain, he was aware of what she spoke of. If he were completely honest with himself, he didn't earnestly think that the Hole would be where he was sorted. The Den was a distant possibility, but from what little Yvanna spoke of them, and with undisguised loathing, that one was a possibility that sat at the bottom of the barrel. So the Nest or the Pit was left. Truth be told, he'd prefer the Nest, the people there didn't seem too keen on socializing so much as academic success. Oh the book he read didn't say that much, but he knew the type. Even in the Muggle primary school there were those types of children, usually solitary by nature and society's unwritten rules.

So he sat and day-dreamed, thinking of what he would learn at Hogwarts, how his life would change, for better or worse, when summer came along next year. In his musing he had failed to notice the influx of people heading towards the train cars, filling it with its most precious cargo. Only when some older students passed his compartment was he broken out of the self-induced stupor. This brought him back to reading through his book. He hadn't even reached a quarter of it yet, his mind salivating at how much knowledge there was inside it. And to think, this was just a mere supplemental book.

_'Seven years worth of knowledge.'_

The thought send shivers down his spine, but his self-indulgence was not to last. More sooner than he would have wanted it to happen, someone had stepped inside the compartment. He paid them no heed and didn't bother looking past the pages of his book, they would either leave or stay, and in the long run, it didn't really matter. The compartment would get filled out one way or another.

But the person didn't venture further in, and just stood in the opening. Resisting to sigh in annoyance, Hadrian placed the book in his lap and took a look at the newcomer. Who turned out to be a girl, already dressed in school robes, her blonde hair reaching past her shoulders in a straight line. She had a pleasant looking face, but for the moment that face was hardened and showed no emotion any on it, nor did her green eyes wander about, preferring to focus on the single occupant of the compartment. Seemingly satisfied with something, Hadrian noticed a momentary change in her gaze before she moved fully into the compartment and settled down, placing her own trunk below the seat as Hadrian did before. Seeing that no conversation was about to be forced on him, Hadrian inwardly smiled and continued reading his book.

It was not to last. Yet another new presence arrived in the compartment, this one apparently familiar to the blonde girl as she spoke out.

"Took you long enough, where were you?" her voice very unlike her exterior, carrying less hardness to it than he expected.

"Ugh, had to move through the crowd, and it didn't help that I had pug-face on my back, glaring daggers at me," the newcomer spoke. _'Another girl,'_ Hadrian noted, and the girl apparently noticed him, "Who's he?"

"I don't know, he didn't bother introducing himself when I first came in," the softness was gone now and the voice was as hard as her face was that he saw minutes ago. Behind his book, he gritted his teeth at the almost petulant tone of the blonde girl.

"Hope he enjoys being excluded from conversation then," the other girl replied to her friend and moved into the compartment, settling herself on the seat opposite of Hadrian, near her friend.

The silence was ominous for a few minutes before one of the girls broke it and started chatting about inconsequential things, and Hadrian thanked whatever gods there might be for the little things as he tuned out from all outward noise, fiercely concentrating on the potion that the book spoke of now, the Draught of Living Death.

What a grim name it was, and what grim effects it had indeed. If this was in just one of the supplemental books, what else might they expect from their potions class in school, in the years to come? Thinking about potions also made him remember that Yvanna instructed him to go whoever taught the post at Hogwarts and ask for a steady supply of nutrient potions for the duration of the first year. It was an unpleasant thing to think about, but Yvanna had made him promise to go to the teacher and ask about it. He knew she was right, but that didn't make him resent it any less, because it would lead to the teacher probably giving him questions about why he needed nutrient potions in the first place. The bone-mending and general health potions he had stopped taking five days before he had to leave the hostel, as Yvanna deemed his body as fit as it could be in its present state.

Of course, the only way she could deem him healthy enough in the first place was to be shown his body. He tried evading her for that day, and in the end she had cast a body-bind spell on him and gently removed his shirt and robes. She didn't gasp, she didn't ask questions, she didn't rush and embrace him in some motherly sign of affection. But her eyes did linger on his back, and Hadrian could almost feel her eyes tracing every scar he had on his skin. It made him feel weak and disgusted with himself, for allowing that to happen in the first place. It seemed she recognized the inner turmoil inside him, and told him that none of his scars were a weakness, it only showed how much he had survived. When she released him from the body bind, she repeated the same action she had done back in Vladimir's shop, keeping him close to her, her warm hands clasped together across his chest, one of them eventually saw fit to roam and she tangled her fingers in his hair, seemingly finding some amusement in it. Though he would always grumble about it, there was a growing warmth in his heart that told him he had enjoyed the whole thing and even wanted it to happen again. It was a strange thing, trusting an adult and feeling almost completely safe with them.

All these thoughts kept distracting him from reading the book and he sighed, resigned that he was going to feel distracted as it was, so he took to staring out the window only to realize that the train had moved out of the station and he had not even noticed. No longer the stone, metal-roof covered station, but the wilderness of England was streaking by as the train sped by it.

He'd felt the occasional flicker of eyes on him while he remained in this position, but it would shift almost suddenly whenever he made some small movement. So he turned it into a game of sorts; he'd let whoever of the two's gazes wander about his presence, letting them look a bit more than the last time, and then he would suddenly shift his body and almost move his head back to stare them, only to hear the snapping of heads as they violently turned away.

"Quit playing with her," the blonde girl's voice tried to command in an annoyed tone, and a smirk appeared on his face.

"Didn't anyone tell you it's not polite to stare?" Hadrian asked and turned his head now fully towards his compartment companions. The other girl seemed to look down at her feet for a second, and then turned her head back up, sticking out her tongue at him and in the process swallowed some of her long auburn hair, causing her to to have a small coughing fit.

He couldn't help laughing and the other girl joined in.

"I told you not to do that. It happens every time and you still keep doing it. And don't give me that look, you need to grow out of doing that, where we're going, they will expect at least some decorum from you," the blonde reprimanded her friend.

"Oh lay off it, Daphne, I'm eleven years old, I'm not got gonna suddenly grow up just because you want me to. Besides, if I did that, you wouldn't have anyone your age to be friends with, _little miss_."

"Don't call me that," the blonde hissed at her friend, her eyes narrowing at the remark.

The two then descended into bickering and teasing each other, apparently a thing which happened on a regular basis, and Hadrian took the opportunity to close his eyes, trying to filter out the noise coming from the seat across him, and have a small nap. Yvanna had told him the trip to Hogwarts would take the better part of the day and that they would be arriving in the evening.

He must have fallen asleep at some point because when his eyes opened, there was another addition to the compartment. A boy with dark skin, and short cropped black hair, dressed in robes, though not school robes, the material seemed too fine of a quality, sat on the same side of the compartment as he did. This one at least didn't throw glances at Hadrian, though it is possible he had done so while he was asleep. Blinking the drowsiness away, he looked outside the window once more and saw that the sparse wilderness they traveled through before had been replaced by green hills and lochs, and the sky itself was of a much darker shade, nearing violet as the sun descended out of sight. He took out his wand from the inner pocket of his robe and cast a _Tempus _in a whisper, observing how many hours had passed since he left the hostel. If Yvanna was correct, it should be another hour or two before they reached their destination.

In the background, his mind registered that the three occupants of the compartment were looking at him for some reason.

"What?" he broke the silence.

"Your wand," drawled the dark-skinned boy, "is very unusual. I didn't know Ollivanders made them like that."

"He doesn't," Hadrian replied back, before pocketing his wand and ending any further inquiry they might have had by picking up his book and continuing from where he left off. _'Wormwood, asphodel, sopophorous bean and sloth brain...'_ he noted the ingredients, and decided to read up on their properties at a later opportunity. It was a good thing he had decided he would do as much later on because once more the compartment had new people standing on the outskirts of it.

The door slid open, revealing a trio of sorts. Though taking a closer look at the trio in question, he supposed it was more just the one girl and the other two seemed as attachments, rather than friends. The 'attachments' were two boys, who looked dumber and meaner than his cousin, though not quite as fat or tall enough, but seemingly striving for it. The word 'goons' came to mind when one saw them, their perfect job application. The girl they were attached to was a bit shorter than them, with a pale complexion, but unlike Hadrian's, who had the pale skin due to little outside exposure in his life and spending a fair portion of it in a dark cupboard. Her eyes were a stormy grey, while her hair, long and straight, reaching way past her shoulders, and carrying some odd scent with it, was platinum blonde. In comparison to the first girl in the compartment, hers was more of a dirty blonde hair, while the girl's type of blonde almost went into the silver-white spectrum.

"Greengrass, Zabini, Davis," the girl nodded towards the three, though the last name was spat out rather than spoken, and focused her eyes on Hadrian, "And who might you be?"

"Someone you don't know," Hadrian retorted while trying to go back to his book. Everything seemed determined to pry him away from the thing though.

The girl snapped back at him, stepping forward into the compartment, closer to Hadrian, disgust lacing her tone and her face painted over with a sneer, "Muggleborn then. Odd that you, Zabini, would let one in here. And you," pointing her eyes back at Hadrian, "should learn not to try and talk to your supe—"

She never got to finish whatever he was going to say, as Hadrian had his wand out in a moment's notice, cast a a slightly forceful charm to push her out of the compartment, the _thud_ sound easily heard as the girl hit the outside wall, and then cast a locking spell on the compartment door. Only when he was done with it did he realize he was being stared at again.

"Friend of yours, was she?" Hadrian asked, while this time not bothering to pocket his wand, settling for allowing his hand to drop to his lap, though his grip remained intense.

The slight tension that was building up was broken by the Davis girl's giggling intermixed with bouts of laughter.

"Merlin, no! The arrogant snot-nosed runt is annoying, it's just.. well, you'll find out on your own. No need to spoil the surprise," the girl teased him.

"Davis, I do think you're being awfully harsh on our companion here," the Zabini boy spoke to Davis, before turning his head to the side, talking to Hadrian now, "That was Delinda Malfoy. A necessary... acquaintance," and upon seeing no reaction to the name Malfoy, he continued, "You are Muggleborn, aren't you? Not recognizing her name and your actions indicate as much, I mean."

"No, not Muggleborn," Hadrian replied back and noticed how the boy had originally shifted a bit away from him when he assumed Hadrian was Muggleborn.

"Then how can you not know about the Malfoy family?" Zabini drawled the question out.

"Because I don't care?"

"You're rather sparse in your answers. It's considered quite rude to brisk someone off like that."

"So I've been told," Hadrian bit out, placed his wand back in the insides of his robe and returned his full attention to the book. Or tried to. It seemed there was a turn being taken in who would interrupt him. _'Maybe I shouldn't have done anything, and they would not be so annoying now.'_

"Oh come on, you can't just whisk your wand out, push the prat out with spells that aren't in our first year, lock the door and not expect us to be curious?" the Davis girl spoke in a higher tone than Hadrian would have enjoyed.

"By all means, be curious all you want," he teased the girl, enjoying the mild verbal sparring.

"Fine then!" she replied back sharply at him, "At least tell us your name."

Hadrian arched an eyebrow, feigning confusion, "I thought you lot prided yourself on manners. Isn't it common courtesy to introduce yourself first?"

Once more the Davis girl stuck out her tongue at him, for which she received a slight slap on the shoulder by her friend, the Greengrass girl. She kept herself mostly outside of this conversation so far, but now her full attention was on Hadrian.

"I'm Daphne Greengrass," she spoke from the comfort of her seat.

"Blaise Zabini," the boy next to Hadrian spoke, almost puffing up as he introduced himself.

"And I'm Davis, as you know by now. Tracey Davis," the auburn-haired witch said with a mock-haughty tone.

"Mmmhm, I'm Hadrian."

"What, no last name?"

"Not at the moment."

"Why?"

"Everyone loves a good mystery."

"Urgh, just tell us, you prat."

"No."

"Fine, see how you enjoy the rest of the trip being ex—"

"— cluded from your conversations? Be my guest. I'm trying to enjoy a book here."

The Davis girl opened her mouth to snap something back at him, when a bodiless voice spoke throughout the train.

"We will be arriving at our destination in ten minutes. All students are advised change into school robes."

Hadrian paid the call no heed as he was already in his school robes, but the Davis girl was not and so he and the Zabini boy were shooed out of the compartment for a brief few moments before being allowed back inside, this time for Zabini to change, though it was only minimum, switching his outer fine robes with the standard black school robes. Thankfully any sort of inquiry that the Davis girl wanted to continue from before was impossible as the train slowed down and came to a stop soon enough. When he reached to pull out his trunk, he was informed by the Zabini boy to leave it, that it would be brought into the school by other means once he was sorted. He thanked Zabini and made his way outside the train, unwillingly being a part of a quartet.

When they reached outside, he saw the station in question was near some village, but due to it being night-time now, he couldn't see in which way the school was supposed to be. His train of thoughts was interrupted as he heard a familiar voice boom over the crowd of students that were now on the outside.

"Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here!"

He gritted his teeth at the sound of that voice and had considered taking out his wand, just in case. The change in his face and the rubbing of his fingers against each other, as if he had a wand between them, had not gone unnoticed by his former compartment companions, and they filed the information away for future musings.

Thankfully, the oaf hadn't noticed Hadrian in the crowd of first years, and for that he was grateful. He spoke some other things and then led them to downwards to a pier, where multitudes of boats awaited for their passengers.

"No more'n four per boat!" the giant instructed and the children followed his words.

Hadrian found himself seated with Greengrass, Davis and Zabini, unsurprisingly enough as he had unconsciously stuck near them through the crowd. The body of water upon which the boats glided across, tugged by some unseen force, glimmered in the clear night sky, the stars and many other sights reflected on it. As the boats sailed their way, Hadrian noticed the unnatural silence among the first years. It seemed that no matter whether you were Muggleborn, Pureblood or anything else, the arrival would still leave you stunned in wonder.

And what a wonder it was. After a last-second warning about ducking their heads while they passed underneath a bridge, slightly overgrown with plants, they had come into full sight of it.

Hogwarts.

From the distance, numerous lights could be seen in its many windows. The turrets, the towers, the battlements. Everything was clearly viewed in this night-light. More fortress than a school. The direction they approached it from made the whole thing seem like it was an island, raised up from the depths and placed there by the gods, for all to see and stand in awe. To sum up its presence in one word, majestic.

And something deep within Hadrian's core sang as it beheld a place he would come to call home.


	6. Chapter 6

Their arrival at the dock of Hogwarts had ended the silence in which they traveled. Almost instantly, chattering from all of the children ensued, each talking about the beautiful sight they had just been exposed to. Even Hadrian's compartment companions were chattering, though each in a different way. The Davis girl could not keep silent and just kept repeating how awesome Hogwarts was. Zabini had wondered how long has this route to the castle, for first years, been established. And Greengrass had commented rather viciously about some of the other soon-to-be-students nearby as they accidentally splashed her robes with water from the lake.

Hagrid had then quieted them for a moment and bid them follow him up to the castle. Even the short trip still showed off some sights which were rather wondrous to see. Hadrian couldn't help but allow a smile to appear on his face as he walked closer and closer to the school. Even with his almost month-long exposure to Knockturn and Diagon, there was a vast difference between those two places and Hogwarts. He could almost imagine how ancient the magic surrounding the castle was, falling down on every student like stardust from Muggle fairytales.

Now they had breached the castle itself and Hadrian could almost taste the knowledge the castle would bring. It teased his taste-buds and he wished the damn sorting, whatever it may have included in the process, was soon done so he could find out where the library was. The hall where they stood in obviously served as the entrance hall, as it seemed to house an unusually high amount of doorways, but the most obvious one would lead up those white marble stairs, to the great dark brown wooden doors. The lighting was dim, whether on purpose or not, brought on by the torches stuck in the small black metallic handles on the wall, and the ceiling itself seemed impossibly high and out of eyesight. Beyond that, something beckoned them.

Once more had Hagrid led them, but this time made them stay further away from the door, as he raised his hand and knocked rather forcefully on the great oak doors. Someone had heard the knocking, and the door creaked while it opened inwardly. A figure had walked out of the hall, dressed in dark green outer robes, and completely black cloth underneath, seemingly melding into each other. It was an older woman, with a wrinkled face, thin red lips and a proper pointed witch hat. She seemed to observe the students in front of her for a moment before turning to Hagrid.

"The firs'-years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank-you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room."

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours."

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarted yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." Her eyes lingered for a moment on several children in the very front of the small crowd. "I will return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She had vanished back behind the great doors, and the chattering immediately resumed. Hadrian had overheard a few boys talk about facing a troll or some other series of gruelling tests, which would be involved in the sorting. He couldn't help but roll his eyes as the embellishments grew larger with every moment. _'As if they'd test children like us with anything, when more than just a few children had never even done proper magic before.'_

As the first years started talking amongst themselves, through the walls came silver shadows. No, not shadows. Ghosts. An assortment of ghosts floated through the air, going obviously in the direction of the door that stood closed, not even noticing the small gathering of children in front of them. One of them however had noticed the children, when one of them, a girl or boy, shrieked in surprise at the sight, and stopped talking with his ghostly friends, introduced himself briefly, expressing hopes of seeing some of the children in his own House. Before more could be said, the other ghosts dragged him away, so to speak, through the wall and doors ahead, and the chattering only intensified with their departure.

The talking stopped as McGonagall had returned.

"Move along now," she said in a sharp voice, "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

The doors had now swung completely on the inside and an even greater hall greeted them. Not just the hall itself. The ceiling was enchanted to show the night sky above, more clearly than it should have been possible. The hall itself was far more brightly lit than the one which they left moments ago, as hundreds upon hundreds, if not thousands, candles floated in the air and illuminated the room. There were giant tables spread around the room, five of them. Four for each of the Houses and one, the centerpiece, seated above them all on a small platform, the staff table. Yet the sight that captivated every first year's sight was the plain looking stool, with its three wooden legs, and a brownish pointy hat that sat atop it.

If that alone captured their attention, the sight of the hat's brim opening and forming a mouth, breaking into a song, surprised them even more.

Hadrian had listened to the whole thing, albeit one part had made him feel particularly uneasy.

_**There's nothing hidden in your head**_

_**The Sorting Hat can't see**_

He had to restrain himself from gulping as the rest of the song carried on and in his worry missed out on the words of McGonagall, but still retained some semblance of a mind that he noticed a small girl in front of him move to the stool where the hat sat. When it was placed on her head, it had taken but a few moments before it shouted out _**"HUFFLEPUFF!" **_and the girl was greeted with a loud cheer by the older students that sat at the Badger's table, their tapestry proudly sporting the emblem of their house in their bright yellow and black colors. After her, a small boy with beady eyes and some odd kind of walk made his way towards the hat, who announced him as Ravenclaw, from whom he received polite clapping, so much unlike the Hufflepuff's table earnest cheering. Another girl went to Hufflepuff, apparently friends with the first girl who ended up there. A girl resembling the goons he had seen before on the train was the first of the evening to be sorted into Slytherin, their reaction polite clapping, similar to the Ravenclaw's, but in some nuances more dignified. Then came another Hufflepuff, then a Gryffindor and then twin girls into Slytherin. One of the goons shuffled off to the Sorting Hat when the name _"Crabbe, Goyle" _had been called out, and ended up in Slytherin as well. Soon it had been the Davis girl, upon whose head the hat sat for two minutes or so, before proclaiming her Slytherin. Unsurprising, Greengrass had ended up in Slytherin too, though with much less time spent on the stool. The other goon then joined the Slytherins soon after her. A few more people had been sorted, two ending in Gryffindor, one more in Hufflepuff and then one name had been called out which made the Hall burst into not-so-silent whispering and shushing.

_'The Boy-Who-Lived? Is that him?'_

_'He looks almost frightened to be here, look at his face.'_

_'Did you see his scar?'_

_'I bet he's gonna be a Gryffindor.'_

And true to the whispering, the boy with a slightly plump face, and short blonde hair, had indeed been proclaimed Gryffindor, but after quite a period of waiting. Apparently, being sorted for so long was not a common occurrence, usually meaning someone was equally torn between fitting two different Houses. With his sorting done, the Gryffindor table erupted into a roar of cheering, clapping, dishes banging and a strange performance by two redheaded twins who did a small dance jig on their table, while doing a sing-a-long of _"We got Longbottom, we got Longbottom!"_

Hadrian shuddered at how the whole hall seemed to focus on the eleven year old boy, the attention obviously unsettling him. But his shuddering was quickly whisked away with the continued sorting. A few more people had been spread out between the Houses, and then came the turn of the blonde girl with whom Hadrian had the misfortune of encountering on the train. Delinda Malfoy had been one of the quickest sortings of the night, with the hat barely touching her head and already yelling out Slytherin. He noticed that the Slytherin table clapped more fiercely than before, though still contained. Name after name after name after name. Until it was finally his turn.

"Potter, Hadrian!"

He saw the scowl on Davis' face and the thoughtful expression on Greengrass' when he stepped out from the crowd and made his way to the Sorting Hat. McGonagall had given him a brief appraising look and he could swear there was softness in her gaze as she looked at him. She then lifted the Sorting Hat up in the air, allowing Hadrian to sit on the stool and wait until the brim of the Hat nearly covered his line of sight. A voice spoke in his head.

_"Ooooh yes, what have we here? Hello, Mister Potter, now now, no need to worry. All of your secrets will remain within me, that comes with the job, so you need to ease yourself a little more and let me take a peek ins— oh. Oh my. Yesss, I know just the place for you. You might have hoped to pass unseen by others, building your walls with all the books that you can find, but that's just the merest surface of you, isn't it? It won't be easy at first, but trust me on this, you will do well. No, better than just well. You'll be great in __**SLYTHERIN!**__"_

He lifted the Hat off and left towards the Slytherin table, and frowned inwardly when he noticed that though he received clapping from his table, most of them seemed confused by his Sorting or downright displeased.

Hadrian felt something almost soothing lay its hand upon him and when he looked down he saw his black tie had changed into silver and green colors, while a small badge, a crest of his House, was woven into the black cloth of his school robes, placed just on the right side of his chest.

As he approached the table now closer, he looked where he could sit. Though not outright hostile, he could see that many of the students simply didn't wish him to sit anywhere near them, and he mentally shrugged at their hostility, having been used to it over the years in far less subtle ways, before he made his way over to the side of a ghost who had a vacant seat on his right.

The ghost had a peculiar expression on his silver-shaded face as he observed the newcomer at the table. The boy didn't seem to pay any heed to the looks and glares he had been receiving from both the student body and some of the staff as well. He didn't seem discomforted by his sorting and the ghost was feeling something momentous had happened with the boy's arrival. Wasting no time, the ghost placed his hand over the boy's shoulder, not truly touching, making him tense up slightly at the feeling of cold that spread throughout his body.

"Good evening, little snake," spoke the deadly, silky voice of the Bloody Baron.

Hadrian looked at the ghost, an eyebrow shooting up at the gesture, but still replied politely, "Good evening to you too, Bloody Baron."

The shade of the man that once was alive couldn't help but smirk at the boy, "And pray tell, little snake, how do you know who I am?"

"My new House-mates are not as quiet as they think they are," said Hadrian in reply, "They seemed puzzled by my choice of seating and voiced... their curiosity over my sanity or lack thereof."

"Ah, but you, little snake, don't seem that perturbed by your choice of seat. Have you encountered ghosts before?"

"Not at all, aside from the lot that flew through the door and wall before we were guided inside this hall, you're the first."

The Baron seemed amused by his reply, and wanted to indulge his curiosity, "Then pray tell, how is it you speak with calm to one such as I? Most find my presence unsettling," he spoke with no small amount of pride on how he affected people.

"Well, seeing as there are a lot of worse things in this world than ghosts, I don't see much point in being afraid of ghosts, even one such as you with your grim appearance," the boy replied back and pointed at the everflowing wound that marred the Bloody Baron's cloth and chest.

Bloody Baron had to restrain a guffaw of laughter that threatened to let loose, highly entertained and strangely pleased by the newcomer's response to his presence and words. He spoke no more to the boy and turned his eyes to look upon the rest of the table, and their barely contained curiosity that wanted to display itself on their faces. The little snake would do oh so much more than that in the years to come, the Baron sensed as much when he laid his hand on the boy's shoulder. It will be entertaining to watch, to say the least.

The last name of the name from the scroll had been called out, leaving the boy sorted into Slytherin. Surprisingly enough, he joined Hadrian by his side and inclined his head in silent greeting. Hadrian was thoroughly surprised by this act. Zabini had shown no reaction when he had been called out for the sorting, but there was something strange in his soft brown eyes, looking with both appraisal and something more at him.

But before anything could be spoken by either of them, the silence was broken now by an elderly looking man rising up from his armchair, the centerpiece of the staff table. He was dressed in the most garish of robes, wore half-moon spectacles, while his white beard trailed its path well below his waist. His entire appearance seemed to suggest a fragile and kind grandfather, to whom you could tell everything and be understood, while receiving enigmatic smiles in return.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

The wording was odd, and it seemed only to reinforce the grandfather persona, but before Hadrian could ponder about it or even maybe ask the Bloody Baron whether this was a common occurrence, the previously empty plates and tables were now filled with all sorts of food. It had literally just popped into existence and the smells that reached his nostrils made him almost forget the manners that Yvanna had drilled into him. Steak and kidney pies, chicken, turkey, pork, various delicacies that seemed too fragile to be actually eaten by anyone, and most of all his nose recognized the familiar scent of black pudding. It took a considerable amount of willpower to gracefully eat the offerings of nourishment in front of him, and due to this focus he had missed out on how some of the older, and some of the new, Slytherin students observed his behavior at the table. They might not have been cheerful about his presence there, but so far he had behaved appropriately. Any further evaluation of the Potter boy in their House would wait until they were in the privacy of their common room.

The rich taste of black pudding still on his tongue, he had taken a goblet from the table, looking at the orange liquid inside, before taking a sip to see what it was. It was a bit strong, though sweet tasting, and it mixed oddly well in enough with his favorite delicacy of the feast, the contrast between the two creating a rather unique sensation on his tongue. The Bloody Baron noticed his enjoyment of the liquid nourishment and supplied the name for it: pumpkin juice. Hadrian had then engaged the Bloody Baron, between eating, chewing and swallowing properly, about ghosts in general. If they ever ate food, what made them ghosts, and did each of the Houses have their own ghosts. The shade had seemed intrigued by the boy's curiosity and answered as best he could. He personally didn't participate in any sort of eating, though ghosts apparently could taste some food if it was left out to rot, so its... taste would permeate more than just the physical aspect; the Baron himself never indulged in such things, thinking it undignified to be surrounded by rot, despite being dead himself and having no sense of smell. He deflected the question behind the question about what made people ghosts, knowing that the boy would have wanted to know what made the Bloody Baron a ghost in the first place, saying that each of them had something left unfinished, a task left undone, a duty to fulfill. It was different for every ghost, and yes, every House had their prominent figures as ghosts. There was mention of the Fat Friar, of Hufflepuff, and from his description Hadrian melded it with the ghost that stopped in front of the hall to talk with students before the sorting had happened, then of Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, a Gryffindor, a ghost whom the Baron enjoyed occasionally baiting about and sending into bouts of depression at his nearly headless status, a thing which prevented him joining in with some other ghost parties. When he brought up the Gray Lady of Ravenclaw, Hadrian could have swore something had changed in the man's voice, something barely detectable, he spoke not much, as she was a mystery to most of the castle, always keeping to herself and not exactly student-friendly as the others might have been. When asked himself how student-friendly he was, the Baron did burst out into a dark and rich laughter, making those near him and some at the other tables stare at the sight, and pointed out that he was a Slytherin-friendly ghost, first and foremost. He did however mention that on occasion he would intervene on other student's behalf when a certain poltergeist under the name of Peeves was around. Apparently, the only person, or rather ghost, to frighten Peeves and terrorize him into submission was the Baron, for which Hadrian complimented the shade, raising his goblet of pumpkin juice in praise of the man.

The odd behavior of one new Slytherin hadn't gone unnoticed by the hall. Most of them couldn't even conceive being in the same hallway, or castle, as the Bloody Baron, let alone to sit next to him and engage him in conversation. Some stared at the boy brave, or insane, enough to do so freely. Some stared at the boy for other reasons entirely. Apparently his sorting into the Pit had been of much surprise to some, and none of them were pleased about it.

One was trying to think what might have happened for such an event to happen, what the boy might have been exposed to in the month before the term started to cause such a dramatic thing to happen. It would bear looking into, but for the moment it would have to wait, there were other plans in motion, other children he would need to focus his knowing eyes upon.

Another was frowning her forehead, thinking similar thoughts as the previous person, about how such a boy, the boy of her once best and brightest students, could have ended up in Slytherin's House. It had worried her, though in a different way than the first person.

A third was looking at the boy most intensely, while one of his colleagues jabbered in his direction, and he only but half-listened. He did not expect the Potter brat to end up in his House. He had enough on his plate with this year already, trying to calculate through how many mishaps his classroom would go through until the newly arrived dunderheads learned it was a thing highly discouraged and often times punished with loss of points and detention. Then there was the issue of the Boy-Who-Lived arriving in school and, predictably so, ending up in Gryffindor. A look at the so called savior of the wizarding and witching world, and you couldn't even begin to guess how the nervous wreck of a child was actually responsible for the defeat of one of the most powerful Dark Lords in recent history. Added to that plate was the presence of a Potter in Slytherin. He wanted to get up and demand of the Headmaster that the brat be resorted, that he would not tolerate his presence in his House, that it was only further insult to the memories he had gained from the boy's father. His mind seethed, wanted to lash out at the boy, and then in a moment's notice, he realized how he was already planning to humiliate the boy in front of the class. And how similar he would be to the boy's father, which only deepened the inward scowl he was fighting to keep down. No. He would not humiliate the boy. He would not degrade the child as he would have initially wanted to. But nor would he pamper him or coddle him just because of the memories that he had of the boy's mother. In the end, the two very different sets of memories would vie with each other, maintaining an odd balance of sorts in the man's mind.

And an unknown fourth was puzzled at the anomaly of the boy ending up in his old House. He saw what the others had missed. He recognized the signs, the behavior, the subtle body movement, and above all how small the child was for an eleven year old. There was no public knowledge about what happened to the Potter child after his parents died in the last days of the war. Many had presumed the family extinct, and truth be told the person himself was not concerned about it in in these recent years. It was clear to him that the boy had an unusual childhood. He knew, he knew and those like him knew as well, what earned one's place in the serpent's pit. You were either raised as one from birth. Or you made yourself into one to survive. No, no, another child interested him for the moment. The Longbottom boy. So young and so frail in appearance. Yet this was the boy that nearly broke him. This was the boy that was the cause of his fall from grace. Yet despite it, he kept finding his gaze wandering over to the small child, with messy black hair, that was talking to the ghost of Slytherin's House with ease that most of the older students didn't exhibit around the silver shade of a man. The boy was a puzzle. And he oh so ever loved solving those. For now, he would wait, waiting for more pieces to reveal themselves.

* * *

The desserts vanished from the tables, and the elderly man rose once more, the hall's previous chatter falling silent.

"Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you:

First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbid den to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well," his eyes twinkled with an odd glimmer in the direction of the redheaded twins at the Gryffindor table, "I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their House teams should contact Madam Hooch. And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

* * *

The last statement had everyone up in chatter again, some discussing how funny the joke was, some wondering whether the old man had finally gone completely senile. A voice from his own table, a voice he really didn't wish to hear anytime soon, had said something loudly enough to pierce the surrounding noise, though the part _"... my father will hear about this!"_ carried better than most. And judging by the looks the rest of the Slytherin table gave to the old man's proclamation, they were most likely one of those that considered the man going senile and unfit for his position.

He had shushed them once more and told them it was time to sing the school's song. Which was horridly and shoddily done as most of the students sang in their own tempo, with no actual music or notes to guide them, and Hadrian couldn't help smirking at seeing the Gryffindor twins perform it to a funeral march. He was quiet for the most part, and so were the majority of students sitting at the Slytherin table. What few words Hadrian sang made him roll his eyes, but he endured it.

The song ended quickly enough, for which Hadrian thanked whatever gods there might be, and the Headmaster now instructed the first years to follow after their House's Prefects, to their common rooms. Each of the four Houses went off to separate doorways from the great hall, each holding the entrances to their common rooms as the most valuable secret. The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs had moved in a bustle, unorganized and rather energetically. The Ravenclaws were more subdued, while the Slytherins walked in complete silence towards one of the staircases, which led down into the damp and chilly dungeon hallways.

They were led down a series of hallways, sharp turns, one after another, until all semblance of what little sense of direction they had was lost. In a way, it was effective if anyone were to follow them, for they would be completely lost when they were trying to find their way back up. The whole convoluted way seemed like a test for the first years, for none of the older students spoke to them about memorizing this way. Maybe they would get a guide for the first week of school, to get acquainted with the hallways they'd be roaming for the next seven years.

Finally, they stopped. It was a wall, much like any other wall they had passed in the dungeon. Cold, gray stone and the only light provided by the torches, dim as it was. One of the Prefects, the girl, faced the first years.

"This is the entrance to our common room. Remember it well, and if you can't remember the exact spot where it is, look for the torch-handles that have snakes embedded into them. Between these two torches," she pointed by waving her hand off in the vague direction of them, "is the doorway. The password for today and tomorrow is "Puri"."

As she said the word, the stone wall cracked with visible breaks in it, and slid down into the floor, revealing a passage into a larger room ahead. The Prefect instructed them to go inside before explaining anything further, and stayed on the outside, waiting to see if there were any stragglers left behind. Satisfied that no one was left outside, or that no one had followed them down there, the female Prefect stepped beyond the wall and the wall shifted back into its previous position, revealing nothing, as it did for so many years now.

* * *

The room they now stood in was vast enough to hold more than thrice their numbers. It was obvious that even with all of the Slytherins, they would easily have the comfort of additional space, allowing for more privacy, should one desire it so. There were no torches on the wall, although unlit lamps did hang off the walls, so Hadrian looked about trying to see what illuminated the room.

At first he thought those were merely painted glass windows. Then there was movement. Some kind of creature had passed the window's confines and a nearly-silent sound of wonder escaped Hadrian's lips. The window looked out into somewhere below the water, there was no doubt about it, the way the fluid moved when something swam near their windows was hard to notice. He remembered the lake that they crossed over in the boats and thought that this must be the same lake.

He moved his gaze away from the transparent windows which held the lake at bay, already pondering in the back of his mind what kind of enchantments did that, and moved onto the room itself. The lighting that was provided by the luminosity of the lake through the windows showed off the colors of his House's common room beautifully. There was a mixture of deep dark green, melting along the lines into soft blackness of shadows, and strands, trimmings of silver glowing subtly in lake's light. The room seemed to be of a circular shape, yet not completely, cuts and corners marring the perfection of the circle, forming alcoves, with two doors to the sides, leading elsewhere. The walls themselves held a few portraits and more than a few tapestries with the emblem of their House. There were a number of fireplaces, some hearths extinguished at the moment, some still blazing with the comforting spark of fire, more than a dozen tables where groups of people could comfortably sit and study together, more than just a few large couches and sofas where the students might relax and talk with their peers of subjects that might not pertain to studying.

In his observation of the room, he had almost missed out on the arrival of their Head of House from one of the shadowy corners. Whether the man had been standing there all this time, under some illusion, or whether he arrived, through an unknown passageway, it didn't matter. His appearance to the first years left an impression of awe on them. For a few moments more, the man observed them with his black eyes, looking across each of their faces, already evaluating them. He held his hands firmly in the front, clasped together, his pale skin in high contrast to his black robes, and were there no white piece collar around his neck, you could not have guessed where his semi-long dark hair ended and where the robe began.

"You have been sorted into the noble House of Salazar Slytherin, the greatest of Hogwarts Founders. Do not take my words lightly and it would be best not to interrupt me until I'm finished," he spoke with a silk-ladden voice, "You are now snakes. Serpents. Vipers. Asps. You are something which the other Houses will look down upon. They will look upon you, upon us, and see something untrustworthy. Unworthy. We will always be shifters to them, always the odd House. Though the Ravens will exhibit more common sense than the others and realize that such views are nothing but bigotry, still.. you are to trust no one outside our House. You were all sorted here for a reason, and whatever reason it may be, keep it secret. Keep your secrets. Keep whatever grudges or feuds you might have, for one of your fellow snakes, away. There will be no dissent in the pit. If you have something to argue with a fellow Slytherin, do it in the common room. Outside of this place, you must be united. Either we all excel, either we all succeed or none do. I will show bias in the classroom. I will do it, because none of the others will think of giving you a fair chance. In their minds, we are already tainted merely by House placement. Prejudices and bigotry have many forms, some undoubtedly very crude and simple, others far more reaching and subtle. However...," he drawled, "that does not mean that you can whisk through my class just by being one of my snakes. You will study. I will see to it that you all have a hard work ethic. Potions are not a subject you can scrape your way through, if you lack attention you may as well disfigure yourself or your classmates in the process. Do not think to snicker, giggle, laugh or whatever other foolish notion you might have at these words. Loyalty and hard work isn't for Badgers only. Pursuit of knowledge isn't for Ravens only. Bravery... well, I should hope to think that you will understand what the word 'bravery' actually is before trying to emulate the dunderheads from Gryffindor. Ours is the cunning and the ambition to rise. The will to adapt and survive, no matter what. Our House might be notorious in these modern times for producing... certain individuals, but you will remember this: you are not those people. You are nothing but yourselves. And though I understand that asking you to follow the rules of the school is necessary, if you do break one, have the decency to do it so you do not get caught. If it's a serious infraction, I will deal with it, the other professors know better than to try and dish out a punishment to my snakes. Do not take this as encouragement to break the rules, I will make you serve detentions and they will be undoubtedly ghastly for you. Now then, you have one day of rest ahead of you, seeing as tomorrow is Sunday and class will not be starting until Monday morning. I will give you out your schedules on Monday morning, so make sure that every one of you is on time for breakfast in the Great Hall. I also advise you to study in advance, as I will be doing surprise quizzes during class, throughout all the year. Now then, that will be all for tonight, and you will be lead to your dormitories by the Prefects. Your luggage has already been brought in, and you will find your name in one of the plaques on the doors. Everyone is free to go now."

The boys were led to their dormitories by a Marcus Flint, their fifth year Prefect. He had a bit of a mean look to his face, his nose crooked, as if broken by something multiple times over the years, his shoulders wide, his hair kept short and cropped, the black robes accentuating his athletic and muscular build as he walked close to one of the first years. His face, although a bit unpleasant to look at, had a hidden warmth to it. Not too much of it, but he couldn't help but be somewhat genial with the first years, it was his duty as a Prefect, and as a fellow Slytherin, to protect them and guide them through this school while he was still in it.

Looking at the doors they passed, Hadrian saw that only two name plaques were attached to them, implying that there would be only one other person sharing a room with him. An unexpected thing, but not unwelcome. He was aware, ever since learning that Hogwarts was a boarding school, that he would share space with other children his age, but that didn't mean he had to like it. They were led further and further away from their dormitory entrance, down the hall and he had noticed that the rooms closest to it were for older students and descending lower in years as they progressed further away.

Finally, they reached the part of the dorm where the first year boys would sleep for the coming year. He had fervently prayed to whoever might be listening that he didn't end up with one of the goons, and someone seemed to have been listening, as the goons got put into the same room. Hadrian shared his room with Blaise Zabini in the end, a not unwelcome company, though it would take getting used to. When they entered their room, he had silently thanked, again, whoever had listened from before, as he saw his four poster bed with curtains that could be drawn around it, blocking him from sight. Without further ado, he bid the other boy good night, popped open his trunk, with a near silent whispering of the keyword, and took out his pyjamas, before he settled in the rather comfortable bed for the night. His final thoughts were about the painting he had glimpsed only moments before, hanging off between the two beds, and how it seemed something had moved inside it, just when his eyes had closed for the final time that day.


	7. Chapter 7

The next day greeted Hadrian rather oddly. It was as if the sun was in his eyes, but he knew for certain that sunlight couldn't show up here, of all places. So despite feeling self-assured at no possible reason for the sunlight to be present in the room, he opened his eyes and was proved very wrong on his assumption. Apparently, what he thought was merely an effect of his tired out mind, was actually the truth. There was a painting in the room, and it did move. Or rather the imagery inside it. It was alive.

It was a painting of wilderness, complete with high grass, blue skies, white clouds and a soft yellow sun. When the clouds would pass over the sun, the light the painting emitted would diminish in intensity. Blinking away the drowsiness, he already had cogs turning inside his head, figuring that each of the rooms had something similar to it, to be able to tell the time of the day. After all, being in the dungeon and their common room windows looking out to the water of the Black Lake couldn't do much for ascertaining the hour.

Throwing a look at the other bed, he saw the curtains were still drawn, presumably because its occupant was still asleep. Hadrian was now thankful for one of the things the Dursleys drilled into him; getting up early in the morning. He don't know whether he'd ever be anything but an early riser, but for the moment it benefited him. Remembering some vague words from the Prefect, that led them down the halls of their dorms last night, his thoughts turned to cleanliness, wanting to shower before anyone else got the same idea, as the showers were a shared area, only separated by small stone extensions from the shower room's walls. There was some sense of privacy, but not much. And he didn't want for people to start hurling questions his way when they saw his back and chest. When, not if. He was painfully aware it won't be hidden forever, but that didn't mean he couldn't postpone the event.

The showers were empty indeed, and he had taken quite a long time, he'd got accustomed to those in _"Night Bird"_, of going about it, feeling the warm water hitting his flesh and heating it up. He hadn't noticed it last night, but once outside the comfort of his bed, the room he was bunking in with the Zabini boy was rather cold. Guess that was to be expected when every surface seemed to be made of the same cold, gray stone material. By the time he got to his room, he could see other first years, and some older students as well, woken up and heading for the showers. Just before he grabbed the handle to open the doors, they swung inwardly by an unseen force, which turned out to be the Zabini boy, who nodded to him silently in greeting and made his way past Hadrian.

The beginning of the day was rather uneventful, aside from the odd glare or two, and he spent it in the common room, lounging in one of the armchairs near one of the fireplaces, which was blazing rather warmly with fire inside it. The lighting in the room seemed to have been increased, and the blue-green luminosity provided by the lake's waters only added a surreal atmosphere for the place. The older students paid it no heed, but the first years were engaged in conversations about everything they had seen so far.

Hadrian wasn't just lounging there, for he had brought out, from the trunk in his room, the book on Potions that he had been leafing through back on the train. He only pried his attention away from the book when he noticed that all students were now leaving the common room, and casting a quick _Tempus_ he saw it was most likely the time for breakfast, so he closed his book, placed it in the pocket of his robes and settled into the line formed in front of the passageway, all of the Slytherins heading out to join the rest of the school in the great hall. As they departed last night, so they arrived this morning, in silence.

The other tables were quite audibly talking, whether it was the newcomers expressing wonderment and curiosity at the sights they saw, or older students catching up with friends they had not seen for the past few months of summer break. Even the Slytherin table had broken into some small talk, though still nothing of the like of Gryffindors who seemed to lack some proper decorum. Hadrian chanced a glance at the table from his seat and saw how disorganized the whole group was. But what they lacked in table manners, they more than made up in open camraderie they expressed to one another. It was amusing to compare the stoic and dignified tables of Ravenclaw and Slytherin to the rowdy bunch of Hufflepuff and Gryffindor.

Yvanna would most likely be pleased by his sorting, and he found himself smirking a bit at the thought of when he next saw her, most likely next summer. In his musing he failed to notice the approach of the Bloody Baron, who had settled next to him and observed the boy. It took another not-touch of the shade across the boy's shoulders to divert his attention from his thoughts.

"Good day, little snake. Tell me, how do you find the common room?"

"Good day, your Bloodiness," Hadrian answered in a barely controlled voice, having been startled by the ghost's presence, "The common room is... relaxing," he finally answered the question, after deliberating shortly on the appropriate word. And it was true in a sense, it was relaxing, there was no bright light, he wasn't pestered by anyone, the other Slytherins either waiting to see more from the boy or just respecting his privacy. His talk with the Bloody Baron continued throughout the breakfast, drawing once more some gazes from the student body, and ended up leaving the great hall in his company. It was a very productive day, as it turned out that the Bloody Baron was knowledgable in Potions, and while he would not spell everything out for Hadrian, he did like to entice him on the right path for his querries, leaving him with more questions than the boy had begun with. Even in the common room, he talked with the ghost, sitting in the same chair he occupied from the morning, opening his book and talking about particular potions which interested him and how the diagrams of their effects on humans or creatures were drawn.

Though he knew his conversations with the shade were observed by others, he never did understand the extent of their attentions. Some older students which might have clapped less enthusiastically at his sorting were now looking at the boy with odd glimmers in their eyes. Some of the first years seemed genuinely reluctant to come even near the spot where the ghost and boy shared words. But all shared an equal interest in finding out more about the Potter boy, who ended up in Slytherin. Time will tell if he truly belonged there.

* * *

Then came Monday. First day of classes.

Waking up once more before the others, Hadrian finished his morning routine, indulging in a bit of light reading, before he saw the other students making their way towards the exit from their common room. Today's breakfast had been a subdued affair, and the other Houses didn't make as much noise as they did the day before. Food was eaten in blissful peace, before their Head of the House appeared at their table and handed out their schedules. The man had acted a bit snappishly, almost throwing the timetable at Hadrian rather than giving it to him, but he paid it no heed. He would probably prove very similar to certain teachers in the elementary school back in Surrey, hostile and vicious for no reason for some, while showing undisguised favoritism for the few. _'And what joy, just look at what my first class today is,'_ he brooded inwardly,_ 'Potions.'_

Sadly, it turned out his assumption was quite correct. Though in a different way than he expected. And then he remembered the Professor's words, '_I will show bias in the classroom. I will do it, because none of the others will think of giving you a fair chance'_, wondering how true they would prove in comparison to other teachers.

Their first class of the day was shared with Gryffindor, which made a few of his House-mates to mumble not so subtle insults at the other House. For now, Hadrian would observe. It would most likely be like the school-circle rivalries, where two or more circles would antagonize each other for no actual reason.

The Malfoy girl was already in front of the classroom, with the two boys standing behind her, Goyle and Crabbe, not doing anything other than imitating gargoyles. The other significant trio Hadrian noticed were his former compartment companions, with whom he had not spoken a word, aside from daily greetings with Zabini, since the sorting.

Before anything could escalate between the two groups of students, Severus had appeared out of nowhere and entered the classroom, students following in his wake. The man's cloak billowed behind him while he took note of every student taking their place in the classroom. As was in his time, and most likely the time before him, the divide between Gryffindor and Slytherin was prominent in the room, each Slytherin on the left side of the classroom and each Gryffindor on the right. He thought these combined classes were a waste of time, foolish actions by an old man who thought he could reverse centuries of animosity with the simplest of things. Severus seethed inside, but outward his indifferent mask was in place, slipping just barely for a moment once his eyes were drawn across one Hadrian Potter.

The brat was... unsettling. The few portraits that decorate the walls of the Slytherin common room reported to him that the brat only interacted with the Bloody Baron, and had made no advances to either striking up potential friendships or alliances. The portraits also noted that the Malfoy girl had undisguised animosity for Potter, and conjecture based on the mumbling and grumbling of the girl indicated it was due to something that happened on the train. One thing did pleasantly surprise the Potions Master; the brat would often be found, when not engaged in talk with the Bloody Baron, with his nose deep into books. One particular book, and Severus had to restrain his face so as to not betray his shock at how the boy seemingly devoured the supplemental book for potions. He would test the boy's knowledge.

Once the students had fully settled in and a roll call had been finished, he stood up from his desk and watched each and every student like a hawk. Some trembled under the gaze of those onyx eyes, some remained indifferent, and some looked pleased, having already known about their Head of House's behavior towards the other Houses.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word - Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Severus now turned his face towards the brat and called him out, unable to keep all the malice from seeping into his tone, "Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"Draught of Living Death, Professor," Hadrian responded, observing the man's tense stance and the hint of something in those black eyes of his.

"Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"Stomach of a goat, Professor. It's commonly used as treatment for a wide variety of poisons."

"And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"The name, it's the same plant, also known as aconite, Professor."

Severus scowled internally before ending the questioning, "15 points to Slytherin for correct answers. And you, what are you waiting for? Why are you not writing this down?" he nearly screeched out at the rest of the class, startling even his own Slytherins, barring the one who had answered these questions.

After five minutes had passed, Snape flicked his hand towards the board behind him, telling them, "These are the instructions for making the Cure against Boils potion. The ingredients are in the cupboard," another flick of his wrist and a cupboard previously unnoticed swinged its doors open, "You have until the rest of the class to make it. Begin."

Severus Snape's method of teaching was a tad abrasive, and rather direct to the point. He thought the man would be an unsuitable teacher, but was actually surprised that under the very, very thick veil of insults he had also instructed students in how to avoid making mistakes. Sadly, not all listened to his words or responded well to the harsh tone they were spoken to. Which naturally led to the first accident of the school term.

Hadrian only heard some hissing and bubbling noise to his right before seeing the Longbottom boy, the one everyone called Boy-Who-Lived, and his cauldron which threatened to melt down or explode right in his face. Had he not been so close to the boy, Hadrian would have just tried ducking out of the way, but at this proximity, whatever foul mixture of volatile ingredients the boy used would cover him completely. In that moment he was very grateful for the small household charms that Yvanna had taught him back at the hostel, and without a moment's thought, he took out his wand, pointing it at the soon-to-be-exploding cauldron, almost yelling out an "_Evanesco!"_ which naturally drew the attention of their Professor.

"Potter!" he snapped at the boy, "What is the meaning of this?"

He balked slightly at the tone, but didn't allow the inner tremor to reach his face, "His cauldron was about to explode, Professor. I took the precaution of vanishing his potion rather than trying to see if I could get outside of its reach, sir."

Severus looked the boy in his eyes, brushing against his thoughts on the shallowest surface, and found his word to be the truth, "Very well, another 10 points to Slytherin, this time for keeping my classroom undamaged. And _you_," he turned his gaze now on the Longbottom child, "Ten points from Gryffindor for not paying attention to the instructions on the board. I guess fame isn't everything," he let out the final jab and the majority of the Slytherins snickered at it, while the Longbottom boy reddened in the face, and his fellow Gryffindors glared at him.

And so the first class of the day ended. Next up was Herbology with Hufflepuffs, where Hadrian's hard-earned skill with gardening had paid off in a way he had not expected. Granted they just talked about theory slightly in the beginning, before their teacher, Professor Sprout, who also happened to be Head of Hufflepuff, instructed them in practical aspect of the classwork. After Herbology, they had a free period where most students wound up either in common rooms or the great hall, getting a bit of nourishment between classes. Hadrian spent the free period in silence, the Slytherin common room nearly empty, barring the few older students that lingered in the corners, studying and talking with each other.

But the free period ended too fast for his liking, so he asked the girl Prefect, the same one that guided them the on the first day towards the common room, for instructions on how to get to the Transfigurations classroom. Mellisa Moon heard the polite tone that inquired for instructions before looking at its source. Looking down at the small raven-haired boy, she was once more struck with the need to question him and how he ended up in Slytherin. Though many would say that there has never been a Potter in Slytherin, she had been one of the few, if not the only one, who had actually bothered checking the facts and as it turned out, one Hadrian Potter was not the first Potter in Slytherin after all. His paternal grandmother was a Slytherin, as was his paternal great-grandfather, and others the further she went. It seemed that most people either deliberately didn't try to gain more knowledge about the new curiosity in Slytherin or they were too set in their ways. Her musing hadn't gone unnoticed by Hadrian, but he left his own curiosity unvoiced. The older girl was looking at him oddly, like so many of the older students that directed their gazes at him. Before she could answer his request, the shade of the Bloody Baron floated through the wall of the common room and rested a hand on the boy's shoulder. Mellisa still shivered whenever she saw the ghost at their table in the great hall, and his often appearances in the past two days, both in the common room and outside of it, unsettled her. She was brought out of yet another round of pondering by the apology, from Hadrian, for interrupting her, saying that he had a temporary guide for the day and that he would not bother her any further. Another shiver passed down her spine, and she could have swore there was a presence of a slight smile on the boy's face as the ghost led him out of the common room.

Transfiguration proved much like Potions had, a stern Professor who brooked no foolery in the classroom. But unlike the Potions Master, Professor McGonagall was not biased towards her own House at all. She seemed to treat everyone equally, giving and taking points in fair judgement no matter which House was the recipient. Hadrian had earned another additional 10 points for being the first in class who managed to transfigure his matchstick into a needle and when McGonagall asked him how he came to do it so fast, he only explained that he willed it to happen, along with the visualization of the transfiguration process. That earned him another 10 points for Slytherin, along with the praise from the Professor for grasping the theory so quickly and excusing him from the homework that the rest of the class would have to write up for the next Transfiguration lesson. The truth of the matter is he already knew that intent mattered in acts of magic, both Yvanna and Vladimir had told him as much, with the former acting as some surrogate-tutor, when there was less business in the hostel during his stay.

After Transfiguration was done, there was another short free period before the final class of the day; Defense against the Dark Arts. It sounded rather intriguing to Hadrian and from what he read about it in the school book, he only wanted to know even more, and regretted not buying a supplemental book for that as well.

But his enthusiasm was not to last. Their teacher was a nervous wreck of a man, not fit to teach, yet there he was. Wearing a purple turban on his head, stuttering through the lesson, Hadrian wondered how the man managed to even do magic. In his observation of Professor Quirrell he noticed something very odd. Magic would happen with wand movement, even when no words were said, and the teacher would throw glances at a particular part of the classroom. Only when the lesson ended did Hadrian throw a glance towards that spot in the classroom, noticing that the Longbottom boy and one red-headed freckled boy were leaving it.

When he returned to the Slytherin common room, he failed to notice, enamored with the book he was reading, the looks that some of the students were giving him as he passed them by, going almost on autopilot before he landed himself in the same comfy armchair before one of the fireplaces. Quite a few of them had heard that they had accumulated some points from classes today, most of them coming from the first year, and were quite unsure what their reaction was supposed to be when they found out it was the Potter boy who earned those points. Not for the first, and definitely not for the last, time, they wondered if a Raven might have ended up in Slytherin by mistake. In time, they would be proven wrong.

* * *

The first week of classes was over, and Hadrian felt somewhat mentally exhausted. It seemed that the teachers took note of his work and only started to add additional, more advanced homework, before even the week was out. Had he other things to occupy his time, he might have complained about it, but seeing as the only person with whom he spent some small amount of time in talk was the shade of the Bloody Baron, he kept his irritation to the minimum, knowing this was what he wanted, what he needed. More knowledge and with it the means to break free from the Dursleys.

As he was resting and stretching himself in the Slytherin common room, the Hogwarts staff had a meeting of their own, sitting in their lounge room at a table that could accommodate them all easily, and more if needed.

"So, here we are gathered to discuss the first week of classes. Tell me, before we move on to more pleasant things, are there any students with complaints against them?" asked the Headmaster in his grandfatherly voice.

Immediately, a sneer was spotted on the face of Severus Snape, "The Longbottom child. He is utterly hopeless in Potions. He has managed to melt down four cauldrons in the past five days, and it would have been one number higher had one of my snakes not sat near him on Monday and vanished his foul concoction before it exploded all over him. The boy shows no talent, he nearly faints when reprimanded a-"

"Yes, yes, Severus, we all know how your classes can intimidate the first years, you can't blame the boy," Dumbledore chuckled with mirth in his eyes, "Aside from that, how is Neville Longbottom faring in other classes?"

Albus Dumbledore nodded at all the right moments, spoke a few words as the knowledge sunk into his mind, to be categorized and filed away. The most class that the Boy-Who-Lived excelled in was Herbology, Professor Sprout said the boy had a 'green-thumb', in fact she was quite the opposite of the Potions Master in her words regarding the child. The rest did not have much to say, as the boy had performed adequately, average one might say, in other classes. Inwardly, Dumbledore frowned slightly, as he had expected the child who banished the Dark Lord to be at least proficient in Defense against the Dark Arts and excel above others.

"And are there any other notable students among the first years?"

"Yes, Albus," McGonagall responded, "Harry Potter, the boy does extremely well in my class, as is to be expected, he is always the first who finishes the practical and seems to have a very keen mind on the theoretical part as well, though his answers might be sometimes seen as simplistic, but that is to be expected from a first year. I've been thinking of giving the boy extra tutoring outside of the regular classes in a month or two, if he continues to be this way."

Other teachers agreed with her opinion on the boy, namely Sprout and Flitwick, saying that the boy was always among the first, if not the first, who would finish the task given in the classroom. Quirrell had stuttered some slight praise for the boy, telling that the boy seemed to have an innate grasp for his class' material. And then, something slightly unexpected happened.

"The brat does well in his Potions work as well. The snake I mentioned that vanished the Longbottom's volatile potion on Monday was him. Aside from that, the brat keeps quiet in classes, takes notes and is usually among the first of my snakes to turn in his potions, which are of above average quality. It will exceed above average quality once he has had more practical experience."

Everyone in the staff room now looked at one Severus Snape, wondering whether someone was just using Polyjuice and tricking them before their eyes. McGonagall and Dumbledore were especially surprised, given that they knew of the history between Severus and James Potter.

"Ah, but I have noticed something, Severus, about the boy. He seems to be somewhat isolated in your House," the Headmaster spoke, half statement, half questioning.

The Potions Master turned his eyes now fully on Albus, a scowl adorning his face, "And what business is that of yours, Albus? There has been no complaint against the brat or from him. It is his own choice with whom he spends his time with, and for the moment, that seems to be the Bloody Baron."

At the mention of the Slytherin ghost some of the teachers fidgeted. It was unnatural, from their perspective, that an eleven year old would spend more time with a ghost, a ghost like the Bloody Baron, rather than his own House-mates.

"Yes," Flitwick spoke with mirth in his voice, "I've seen the boy be guided by the ghost, on more than one occasion, throughout the school. It seems he completely circumvented the usual route of asking Perfects and other students for instructions on how to find his classrooms."

Again, Albus frowned on the inside. Harry Potter was an unknown quantity, so unlike his parents. So unlike them that he got sorted into Slytherin. So unlike them that his only companion was a ghost with a, presumed, dark past who was not known for associating with students. The boy didn't seem bothered by the lack of interaction with other students in his House, he didn't try reaching outside of his House to others and that bothered Dumbledore on some level.

"Any other notable students?" he inquired again with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Miss Granger, Albus," McGonagall spoke, "The girl does astonishingly well for a muggleborn."

From then on they discussed how other muggleborn children were adapting into the world and who among them needed further help with understanding the school material or not.

* * *

Back in the Slytherin common room, Hadrian was pulled away from his book when he felt someone standing to his side. Chancing a glance, he saw it was the Malfoy girl, but this time absent were the two goons that followed in her every wake. From what he had overheard in the common room, the two boys that accompanied her nearly everywhere were following their own fathers and their orders to stick close to the girl and... help her in school. Which indicated some kind of obligation, debt or just simple over-protectivness to Malfoy's father.

"Potter," she broke the silence, that was settled around his spot, in a drawl and without the ever present sneer that he had seen on her face for the past week, "It seems you aren't a mudblood after all," she spoke like it was a compliment. And with that one word, the rest of the Slytherin common room paid very close attention, without even turning their heads around, to how the Potter boy would respond.

Hadrian already knew about the blood bigotry in the world, though he had only Yvanna's lectures about it, and now it seemed he would gain the practical experience after all. He placed the book down in his lap and turned his head towards the girl, not knowing what he would respond with. On one hand, he didn't really believe in the blood supremacy spiel, but on the other, this House, _his House_, was fairly known for such things. For now, it would not do to stir the hornet's nest. He knew that children were often crueler, more malicious, than the adults that raised them, he learned that lesson early on and thinking about it now the mask he wore on his face nearly slipped at the remembrance. It didn't go unnoticed.

"It would seem so," he responded, finally, in a neutral tone.

The girl sported a small smile on her face, and excused herself before leaving him to his book. _'A test,'_ he mused, _'But did I really want to pass it?'_

* * *

Days had passed, weeks had passed, cauldrons were blown up, magic was taught, classes were consuming, but Hadrian's isolation remained nearly unbroken. A few students in his own year had approached him, asking for notes on classwork or for some minor help with the practical, and in return for some other equally small favors or the promise of such in the future, he would help them out. The more time he spent in his House, the more he enjoyed it, surprising even himself when he found about it. The other Houses... yes, they shared more than just classwork, they shared friendships, they shared jokes and laughter. It would not be the complete truth if Hadrian said it didn't mean anything to him, for he was still a child, and knowingly or not, he did want to have some people close to him. But his stay in the House of serpents had only hardened his exterior, perfecting the masks he wore until not even a single crack could be seen in them. The very few times when he allowed the tension to dissipate from him was when the Bloody Baron and he wandered throughout the castle, him being the eager listener for the shade's stories about the ancient castle.

The Baron didn't reveal secrets, he would not let his young protege, for that is how he viewed Hadrian now, earn knowledge without a cost, without any challenge whatsoever. Often enough, the Bloody Baron would lead him into a part of the castle which was unused by both students and staff, its empty hallways so eery and yet nonetheless tempting to explore. Often enough, the Baron would abandon him while the boy was in such a haze, leaving him and observing him, to see how he would react. The first few times, Hadrian acted as a child that he is and panicked, displaying fear on his face. But soon enough, he wizened up, he saw what the Baron was trying to do and didn't begrudge the shade for his actions, albeit his methods could have been more subtle. He would wander those hallways, void of any other except himself, until his legs tired, until he found a way back to the more populated areas of the castle. More than once students from the other Houses were surprised by his arrival from an area they did not expect to see a Slytherin in, and whenever they inquired what he was doing there, he would meet their questions with that blank face of his, all properly schooled to show nothing, and tell them it was none of their business. Some would get snappy at him, some would ignore the odd little snake that wandered the hallways alone. Some would not just use words on him, and soon Hadrian found the truth in the Potions Master's words. They weren't particularly cruel, nothing like the children back in Little Whinging, where he had no other recourse but to run away and hide while the spiteful children indulged in the game that was known as 'Harry Hunting'. He ran and hid because to fight back would only bring more pain later on when he returned to the Dursley household. All the imaginary wrongdoings used as an excuse for punishments, all the wrongdoings of others pushed onto him.

Here, however, there was no need to run. He could, if needed, defend himself. Aside from the Slytherin common room, his other favorite place in the school was the library, naturally. He had become acquainted with the strict overseer of the place, one Madam Pince, who seemed to prefer the library being empty rather than anyone studying in it or using the books. The woman was nothing if not equal in her behavior towards all, though Hadrian did catch her glimpsing at him and the piles of books he would bring to his table, scowling at some imaginary slight he had done to her books. Imaginary they were, for Hadrian treated those books as precious treasure, reading and devouring the knowledge within them, trying to learn as much as possible in the breaks between his homework and classwork. Despite his initial misgivings about the DADA teacher, Professor Quirrell turned out to be quite competent indeed, and Hadrian had taken to learning additional jinxes and hexes, staying after classes with the stuttering Professor who seemed to lose much of his stutter when the rest of the class had left the room. The man's eyes would grow more determined, his face would harden, and his voice sounded more like one would imagine a master's voice to his apprentice.

When he approached the man at first, the teacher had refused his inquiry about additional lessons, saying he could not show favoritism for students, as per the Headmaster's orders. But after he saw what prompted the question only a few days later, he had kept the boy after class and told him he would see about setting up a schedule for the tutoring. Hadrian didn't question why the man relented, though he had a vague suspicion. After all, the hallway where he suffered for the little 'accident' wasn't exactly deserted, and word must have reached the staff somehow. 'Accident' indeed. He had forgotten how his Head of House instructed them never to move in anything less than groups of four students within their year, having spent so much time with the Bloody Baron had given him a lengthy reprieve from what would have happened sooner. As it was, it was when he was returning from one of his lengthy explorations of the castle, this time returning from the fifth floor, passing a throng of one of the other House's students, who cast wary glances his way and more than a few insults about 'slimy, slithery snakes', for which he laughed out-loud as he was nearly out of their eye's reach. But on his way back, without the company of the shade, he fell victim to a jinx which caused him to trip and painfully hit the floor with his jaw, making it ache with pain hours later on. The nearby group of first years snickered at him, once more not-so-quietly talking about 'slimy, slithery snakes' and how they couldn't properly walk, but only crawl on the ground. The salty taste of coppery blood was on his tongue as he swirled it inside his mouth.

Incidentally, the same group of students found themselves as the monthly-long target of the school's poltergeist, and though the Baron had said nothing about the event, and Hadrian had not asked anything about it, it was understood what it meant. The Baron had then suggested to Hadrian to ask one of the teachers, either the Charms or DADA teacher, for some instruction in protective magic. When Hadrian asked the Baron why he should seek help from Professor Flitwick, he was informed the man was actually a former professional duelist, who had won many awards on the international circuit. The mental image from that was somewhat amusing, and he might have found it laugh-worthy to see the diminutive teacher duel, but he did not act upon the thoughts and restrained the laughter, as he knew the Baron would not lie to him. Omit the truth? Yes. Deceive and twist his words? Absolutely. But lie straight to his face? Never. In a way, Hadrian was glad for the shade's company many times, as both his vocabulary and his wit grew larger and sharper. The comments from other Houses, namely Gryffindor, which came as a surprise to no one, about 'slimy slithery snakes' and other colorful descriptions of his House was now met back with a far more razor-sharp veiled insults, telling them how brave they were, how great their courage, as great as their numbers, and how perhaps the color yellow might have suited them better than the gold they oh so proudly wore upon their badges and ties. Some didn't fully understand his words at first, but knew the intent well enough behind them, and the jinxes thrown at him in the hallways, with no other teachers or Slytherins around, would increase in numbers.

Imagine their surprise once their jinxes started rebounding and hitting either the walls or other students nearby instead of their intended target. So they stopped with the jinxes. For the moment.

And despite Hadrian never bringing the matter up with either his House-mates or Head of House, it was known nonetheless to both parties. His Head of House was somewhat conflicted; on one hand he wanted to stalk the brat around in the shadows of the castle, and deduct points from the students which assailed one of his snakes; on the other hand, he wanted to chastise the brat for wandering alone, to give him detention so he could keep him still in one spot... and safe. He abstained from doing both once he was informed by some of the portraits in the school, and the Headmaster himself, that the matter was being dealt with by the brat himself. So one night he took to wandering the castle, terrorized students from the other Houses parting in the hallways to make way for the overgrown bat of the dungeons, as he was fondly known among them. After a while, he had cast a disillusionment and silence charm on himself, making his passing in the castle invisible and silent to nearly all.

He had followed the boy and the Baron's shade for a while now, thinking perhaps he should try his luck another time when the boy was alone, for none would dare to approach the child when the bloodied specter was near. But just as he was about to turn away and make his way back to the dungeons, the ghost left the boy's side, departing with minimal verbal warning of what lay ahead. The words caused an eyebrow to rise up on the face of Severus Snape and he saw the boy's body tensed up and the tip of his wand had slightly poked outside of the reach of his robe's sleeves. The wand was another curious thing about the boy, and from what he recalled, Albus had mentioned the boy did not purchase it in Olivander, as the man himself had told the Headmaster there was no wand compatible with the boy in his store. This information had worried the Headmaster and intrigued the Potions Master. But the wandering thoughts about the wand were shook away when Severus saw a group of six or seven Gryffindor first years, the Longbottom child among them, the sight of him made Snape grit his teeth.

As soon as Hadrian was within eyesight of the young Gryffindors, they turned his attention upon him. At first, it was poorly made insults to his House, and Severus felt himself scowling and wanting to deduct points, but steeled himself. The Potter brat merely turned his face their way and laced them with one venomous jab after another, his face losing none of the polite expression he wore. This obviously upset a few of the group, one of them going so red in his face that it made his hair look of softer coloring than it was. _'Another Weasley,' _Severus bitterly thought, and he watched how the boy would react. Predictably so, he had reached for his wand and cast something at the Potter brat whose back was turned as he was nearly past the group. He couldn't resist the small tugging of his lips as the spell rebounded on a previously colorless shield and hit the Weasley boy instead who fell down on his face, smashing it into the hard stone floor. Instantly the Gryffindors went up in an uproar, even the Longbottom boy, which surprised Severus. In his interactions with the child, he found him timid, completely unlike the typical Gryffindor one would imagine him to be. But it seemed that time spent inside the Lion's Den had turned him slightly more confident. Before the Gryffindor brats even turned their heads away from the Weasley that laid on the floor, Potter had already been gone from their reach. And Seveurs Tobias Snape could not help but smile at how the child of his one-time rival was turning the tables on his father's house.

* * *

Naturally, the Hogwarts rumor mill was in full speed at how the Potter boy was handling the situation with the Gryffindors and their 'harmless' jinxes. A few students had even dared to say that, along with this and the boy's House placement, it was why You-Know-Who had ordered the attack on his family, to prevent someone who might usurp him. Baseless rumor mongering combined with the malice of children. And for the first time in his stay at Hogwarts, Hadrian Potter knew rage. The offenders were reprimanded later on by their respective Heads of Houses, but that didn't abate his anger at the fools who were talking with so much liberty about his dead family. Yes, he was aware of their deaths, Yvanna had brought him newspapers from the archives, and shared with him what little she knew of the Potter family. He read about how the home where they were hiding was razed to the ground and his parents murdered. The papers didn't mention how he had survived where his parents perished, and though his heart ached for a loving family, he had quashed what little fantasies wanted to spring from thinking about them and what if's. It was one of those times when he welcomed Yvanna's embraces from behind, and her fingers tangled in the crow's nest that was his hair, a small piece of comfort in the turmoil that threatened to swallow him up from within. And now... now these fools thought to insult the memory of his dead parents. He had nothing of them. Not a picture of his own, not a single memento to remember them by. Only the moving picture in the Daily Prophet of 1981, November 1st, displaying the couple in their graduating year from Hogwarts, still dressed in school robes, and the flickers of love thrown to each other in the short glances. In the end he threw the paper away, and closed his eyes as Yvanna continued comforting him and humming an unknown song. Irrational anger had risen up inside him and he wanted them to pay, somehow, for their infraction against him.

It had not gone unnoticed by the Bloody Baron or the other Slytherins. They had heard how the boy's wit was sharpened and subtler than what they would have expected from a Potter. They had heard how he dealt with the students who tried to jinx him or insult him to his face, and applauded such restraint and venom in his words and actions; in the privacy of their common room naturally. Soon enough, what favors he was owed, from his year-mates, were called in. He wanted to know the schedules of the Hufflepuff Zacharias Smith and Ernie McMillan who had joined in with two other students, Gryffindors, in their mocking of his parents. Within a day, all favors were repaid and he had their timetables before him as he consulted the shade of the Baron on his further actions. All of the scheming was done in the comfort of the Slytherin common room, and more than a few students were gleefully looking forward to their next shared classes with the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, eager for what would happen.

And happened it did. During the Herbology classes, in one of the greenhouses on Hogwarts' grounds, a bubotuber that was being handled delicately by two aforementioned Hufflepuffs had suddenly violently reacted to their touches and spewed its puss right across their faces, making them fall down on the ground and yell out in pain as the puss was highly unpleasant when expelled in such a manner and in direct contact with human skin. None but the Slytherins in the class knew where to look for the cause of this and only the presence of the faint smile on their own little snake's face implied that the event was induced by an outside party rather than the plant's own mood swing. As is the Slytherin way, he had gone undetected and unsuspected. Though a few words thrown at the Hufflepuffs by Hadrian Potter made them realize that accidents often happen in practical work and they should mind their mouths as well, as the puss would most likely injure their tongues should it reach them. The Hufflepuffs, dense as these two were, got the point and no further reprimand was needed.

Some might say the Gryffindors suffered less than the Hufflepuffs, what with ending up covered in a completely harmless mixture when their cauldron suddenly, and without any previous signs of hissing or bubbling over liquid, exploded and drenched them in the stuff. Harmless for them? Yes. Humiliating for them? Yes. The mixture in which they were thoroughly covered with had eaten away at their clothes and the outright laughter from Slytherins and even some of their own Gryffindors made the boy and girl in question nearly faint on the spot, and they would have were it not for the scathing words from the Potions Master who sent them off with conjured up robes up to their dormitories. When the Gryffindors had their next class with Slytherin, a few words spoken perhaps a bit too loudly had implied that those who had no shame shouldn't behave as such in the classroom as they did in the hallways. Again, the words came from Hadrian Potter and the victims of the cloth-vanishing potion had received the message clearly and understood the underlying meaning.

Severus Snape knew what had caused the event in his classroom, and even now as word of it spread throughout the castle, he internally enjoyed the fright on the young student's faces. He knew it was the Potter brat who had engineered the cauldron explosion, and though he had not given him detention per say, he did instruct him that he would attend a remedial potions class which would serve as one just as well. And the brat knew as well what the 'remedial class' was about. He didn't complain, he didn't voice any form of disgruntlment, he merely did as the Head of his House instructed, preparing ingredients for the student cupboard supplies. And Severus watched the boy, watched how he crushed the pixie wings, how he cut the flobberworms, how with precision he had separated bones from fangs and teeth, how he had chopped his way through various plants. He couldn't help but admire the brat's handiwork, tonight's work alone had replenished more than half of his cupboard supplies. The evening ended on a polite goodbye from the brat and Severus handing him over a fresh batch of nutrient potions.

He had been initially surprised when Potter approached him, asking about nutrient potions and whether the man could provide him with a steady supply until the first year of school was over. He had observed the boy in front of him, and silently cursed those blasted school robes that so effectively hid what was beneath, for he had an inkling as to why the boy needed the nutrient potions. But he would never voice his curiosity, and Potter would never bother to explain it. He would merely hand the money required for a week's worth of nutrient potions and be on his way back to the common room. First time he asked for them, Snape had told him to wait until the evening and then went on to the Headmaster's office, asking Albus why the Potter brat would be asking for nutrient potions. The old man's face had darkened at this, and some sadness had obscured the twinkle he sported most of the time in his eyes. And that proved enough for Snape to brutally question the man where Potter had spent the previous eleven years.

Severus scowled and insulted the man for sending off Lily's son to Petunia Dursley nee Evans. He had known Petunia from a young age, a spiteful child if he ever knew one, always jealous of Lily and her magic, always malicious and filled with hate. Truth be told, he had not allowed his mind to be infested with thoughts of Lily's offspring after that fateful night, only vague recollection of Albus' words of sending the boy somewhere safe, where he'd be taken care of, remained and he twisted those words until they suited his own preconception, taking it meant that the Potter brat would be raised in a lavish home, indulged and pampered. But now he had to deal with the broken pieces of that particular delusion and assess the truth of things. It would not be a quick thing, to rework and rebuild the image of the Potter brat he had in his mind previously. But it would happen.

* * *

Hadrian was surprised in the following days. His House-mates seemed to have warmed up to him, and had started exchanging greetings with him on a regular basis. Even Malfoy was polite, which surprised him to no end. Had he been the social type of a person, he might have even tried venturing into a few friendships or at least acquaintances, but he was not, so he took their greetings, returned them with the same politeness he always wore and spoke nothing further.

He had failed to properly judge how much interest he had garnered in some people. Calculating looks, hungry gazes and more than just mischievous smiles were sent his way when he couldn't see them. After all, despite what the Potters might have been in recent history, they were still one of the older families, one with renown amongst other things. For this year's duration, the boy would have his peace and be judged further by his House-mates and others. Come the next year, things would change...


	8. Chapter 8

It was far from next year, however. It was All Hallows Eve and the presence of all students was mandatory at a feast that was being prepared for them in the great hall. Hadrian had noticed the displeasure of his House-mates, those who had always been subtle and restrained about. No one had spoken about anything, but there was a wave of discontent present in the common room. When he asked the Bloody Baron for the possible reason, the shade merely flashed one of his enigmatic smiles at the boy, telling him he would find out on his own.

The great hall was a wonder to behold. Thousands upon thousands of candles suspended in air by magic, their light dimmed so as to create an atmosphere humming and comforting, enthralling and enchanting, the ceiling revealing a night sky cluttered with clouds, yet not so much as to prevent the moonlight seeping in. There was magic in the air, you could almost feel it touching your skin, falling down upon you like a fine cloak. A sigh of pleasure and awe escaped many a throats that night. Each House at their tables and the previous signs of discontent that Hadrian saw in his Housemates faces vanished and replaced with masks of pleasures that the sight before them induced.

He was brought out from his reverie by the Headmaster's voice, muttering about, albeit loud enough for the Hall to hear, some nonsense as usual. With a clap of his hands the candles disappeared and found themselves replaced by pumpkins with carved, animated faces in them and a much brighter glow shining out from their hollow spaces, the plates filled with... candy. Hadrian didn't bother restraining his scowl at this vulgarity. This was how they celebrated the day? Even were it not for the Baron's guidance and tutoring about the more sacred days of the year, he would have still felt the intensity of magic itself in the air. And to see it debased as such... such childish and mundane thing. He felt all appetite desert him and he didn't bother taking any of the food that was offered in front of him. Hadrian had not noticed that similar scowls, differing only in intensity, had adorned the faces of his Housemates. The hall was soon filled with the noise of people feasting and chattering about.

"What's the matter, Potter?" a voice from his right spoke and broke him from his thoughts.

When he turned to see who had spoken, he was surprised to see it was the Greengrass girl, one of the three that shared the train compartment with him on their way to Hogwarts. She was looking at him with the same icy and indifferent gaze as the one she wore on the train when they first met.

"Nothing, Greengrass, just... nothing," he shook his head, and gathered his thoughts before schooling his face back into the blank mask he wore.

A different person spoke this time, a bit further away from him, an older student, "Why aren't you eating? It is a feast, after all."

Again, he turned his head to the sides, noticing for the first time that night that for once the Bloody Baron was absent from the table and the seat next to him was occupied by another Slytherin. It felt odd, disconcerting, to say the least.

"I've... lost my appetite," he raised his voice slightly so as to be heard by the older boy who asked the question. He could see the others wanted to ask more questions, but he barred the way for them as he pulled out a shrunken book from his robe's pockets, enlarged it with a tap of his wand and began reading it.

The feast was proceeding as usual until the sound of doors swinging open and hitting the wall broke the semi-peace in the great hall.

"Troll! Troll in the dungeons! I thought you ought to know...," yelled out the trembling figure of Professor Quirrell before collapsing on the floor.

Panic ensued, some tables screaming, some table now very loudly discussing what to do, before it was broken by a _"SIIILENCE!" _uttered by the Headmaster, now standing up from the staff table.

"Students, follow your Prefects back to your common rooms, and the teachers, please follow me!"

The other Houses now rushed through the great hall, clogging up the passages. Not for the first time, Hadrian was glad he was sorted in Slytherin, as theirs and the Ravenclaw's tables were the only ones not in a state of complete panic. Once the noise in the great hall had lessened down, the two fifth-year Prefects of their House stood up and informed everyone that they will be going towards the library, as the Headmaster unintentionally forgot that their common room was in the dungeon, where the troll happened to be. They had spent an hour in the library before their Head of House came there and told them it was safe again to venture into the dungeons as the troll was taken care of.

When they finally arrived in the common room, Hadrian had full intentions of simply heading off to bed and falling asleep. Others had different intentions however. And once more he found himself surprised to be addressed by the Greengrass girl.

"Potter, wait," she spoke, her gaze slightly less cold than before.

"Yes?" he replied, looking at her now and trying to figure out why she would talk with him, and especially after such an event, instead of simply waiting for tomorrow to ask her questions.

"Why did you react like that at the feast?"

Despite her indifferent tone of voice, Hadrian could easily detect the curiosity, no, the _need_, to know why, "React like what?"

"Like you didn't want to be there. And then there was that scowl, a rare sight from you," she pressed onward with her questioning.

Whether it was from mental exhaustion or just plain tiredness, Hadrian answered honestly, "Because it turned from something so beautiful to something so _Muggle_," he snarled the word out, not able to contain himself in the moment of weakness, "in an instant."

He left her standing there in the common room, and thus missing the faint smile that appeared on her lips accompanied with a gaze in her eyes that hinted at the promise of something. And the various intrigued looks from his House-mates once they heard him snarling in answer, saying the word _Muggle_ with such venom they only witnessed when he lashed out against a particular group of students outside their House.

* * *

The next morning in the great hall greeted them with a surprise of its own. The Gryffindor hourglass had a severe reduction in points, and soon enough the word had spread. For some reason, a first year student from Gryffindor had been absent from the feast when the warning about the troll was announced, and found herself locked in a girl's bathroom, the one on the second floor, with it. When the Slytherins learned how the bathroom came to be locked, they nearly lost their sense of decorum and laughed out loud. Apparently, the Boy-Who-Lived with a merry band of his own, four other Gryffindors, which included the Weasley boy, one of the Patil twins, another girl by the name of Brown, and a halfblood called Finnigan, had set out from the rest of their House once they left the great hall and went in search of the troll. For what purpose no one really understood as they were merely first years, and Boy-Who-Lived or not, a troll was out of their league. Apparently they had realized as much and when they noticed the lumbering beast inside the girl's bathroom and locked it in. Only when they heard a shriek resounding from the inside did they realize someone was inside, and someone among them had the wits to run for a teacher to help. Whether they saw it as a good thing or not, Severus Snape, the Head of Slytherin, had appeared as he heard the shriek of fear, blasted the doors open and made short work of the troll, leaving its carcass, cut down and mangled with wounds, on the floor of the room. The Gryffindor that was locked inside with it was found unconscious and heavily wounded from the troll's club. The girl turned out to be a Hermione Granger, someone whom Hadrian was only vaguely aware and even that only because she tried standing out in every class by raising her hand up for every question and trying to be the best in everything that she could.

The Hogwarts rumor mill had a field day with this. No more than a day had passed after the incident and already people knew why she was in the bathroom and what was the reason for the severe point deduction. The Weasley boy, along with the Brown girl, had berated Granger, verbally insulting her for being a 'know-it-all' and said quite loudly 'it's no wonder she doesn't have any friends', which spiraled the poor girl into a bout of depression, leading her to spend the majority of the day in the bathroom where the troll wound up in. She would have to spend the next four days in the hospital wing of the school, and after she might even leave the school, or so the rumor mill grinded on. Even the Slytherins mocked Gryffindor for being so harsh towards one of their own, no matter her blood status in their eyes. Delinda Malfoy ended up baiting Weasley and Longbottom in front of the Potions classroom and got further points deducted from Gryffindor when their Head of House swooped on them from a hallway. When Hadrian later inquired as to why the Professor hadn't reprimanded the Malfoy girl, he was informed by one of the people who still owed him some small favors, that her father knew Professor Snape from their school days, and were close friends of a sort. Favoritism showing its ugly face once more. Not for the first time, Hadrian wished that their Head of House was a bit fairer of a man, but didn't really expect anything to come out of it.

As predicted by many, the Gryffindor girl had left Hogwarts just a week later, her parents deeply unsatisfied, and rightfully so, with the school and the so-called 'security' of its students. For the girl herself, perhaps things turned out better or worse, but for now, none cared to know or inquire further, as she was merely a muggleborn. Hadrian would remember the event rather clearly, and how it showed the true colors of some of the students in the other Houses, having his belief that children his age were far more dangerous to him than any of the staff that resided in the castle. It was a lesson that Hermione Granger nearly paid for with her life.

* * *

The Bloody Baron's companionship was more present than before with the boy, and everyone noticed it. Whereas they would be only seen together at the table in the great hall or in the common room, the shade now almost never left the boy's side, except for the occasions when he was asked by the teachers to take care of Peeves. Before classes, after classes, common room, library, free periods, the shade never left the boy alone, sensing the change that would happen in the next term. Last time had been a mistake that would haunt him beyond the grave, even when he passed over to the other side. This time, there would be no mistakes.

* * *

The Yuletide was approaching fast and the Heads of Houses went amongst their students to see which would stay and which would go home back for the holidays. Out of all the Slytherins, only Hadrian Potter remained behind, once again incurring silent interest from his Housemates and growing suspicion from his Head of House.

The unexpected and uncommon silence in the common room aggravated Hadrian, in an uneasy way. Despite never being friendly with any of his fellow Housemates, it still grated on him to be alone. The temporary illusion of loneliness would be dispelled any time the Bloody Baron would appear by his side or when he ventured up to the great hall for meals. In a way, the holiday had been a blessing. There were no more interruptions, no more insults thrown at him, no more Gryffi- _'Oh for the love of Merlin, can I not have at least this little thing? Was asking for one less Weasley too much?' _

There he sat, at the combined tables in the center of the great hall, the boy with the most uninventive insults often thrown Hadrian's way, and a few other Gryffindors, including the other three Weasley boys. At least he had no animosity with the redheaded twins, who were rumored to be rather spectacular at pranking others, but the oldest one among them always seemed to look down on Hadrian, always puffing up his chest and trying to stick that oh so perfect Prefect badge up into everyone's view. The only reason why Hadrian had not lashed out, verbally, against Percival Weasley is because the boy had the power to deduct points from his House and that would not be beneficial in any way for him, only stir further animosity between some of the outspoken elements in his House.

Namely Delinda Malfoy and her entourage, as he started to call them. It had expanded a week or so after the All Hallow's Eve Feast, with the addition of another girl and yet another boy, though this one was not by any means as dumb or mean looking as Crabbe or Goyle. Theodore Nott was his name, if he recalled correctly, and the boy was one of the other few in his year who had a propensity for digging into books. The girl was called Pansy Parkinson, a truly humorous name for a girl such as she, with her slightly upturned nose and, as he heard the others call it, pug-like face. Hadrian had spotted the girl eying him on occasion, for no particular reason, and now that she was joined at the hip, so to speak, with Malfoy, the only reason why her eyes would come across him would be to sneer and attempt to throw poorly made jabs at Hadrian.

It started out after the Quidditch flying lessons, before the weather got too cold, where, by someone's infinite stupidity, Gryffindors and Slytherins shared yet another combined class, as if the other three, DADA, Potions and Transfiguration, weren't enough. Though this one would only be for two times and not the whole year. During the class, only a couple of students had managed to get their brooms up in the air from the first try, them being two Gryffindors and three Slytherins, for which the latter mocked the former. Hadrian merely kept his face schooled into the same neutral mask of politeness or disinterest, depending on your perspective, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. His broom was among the first that jumped into the palm of his hand at the command of _'Up!'_. Then the flying instructor, Professor Hooch, told them to step over the now floating broom, sit on it and kick off slightly in the air. As was to be expected there was an accident, where the Finnigan boy rose up too high in the air and then proceeded to slide over to the side, hitting the ground and breaking his wrist in the process. Madam Hooch left with the boy towards the hospital wing, ordering everyone that remained on the outside not to do anything while she was away. That order lasted as long as Malfoy could hold in a sneer, that is to say very short, and then proceeded to mock the Irish boy who injured himself, once again resorting to blood status insults, as the boy was a halfblood. Something had fallen out of his robe's pockets, and Malfoy now picked it up, a ring of some kind. The idiotic girl's baiting enticed the reaction she was after and Longbottom, along with the Brown girl, had stepped out of their group and demanded he return the ring back to them. Malfoy merely grinned and saddled her broomstick, going up in the air, taunting them to follow her if they dared which they seemed to be considering. However, a voice had interfered.

"MISS MALFOY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP THERE?"

The voice's source turned out to be Minerva McGonagall, who was having a break between classes in her office and just when she was taking a look through her window she saw the girl rising up from the ground and no teacher in sight. After calling her out so loudly, she made her way down to the pitch where the students waited, asked for an explanation for such behavior and got it from one of the Gryffindors. It was the truth, and it cost them fifty points, citing how she might have been hurt and that this would serve as warning for the future should she think to attempt such foolishness again, which earned Malfoy glares later on from the other students once they returned to the common room.

She apparently thought that somehow twisting the truth to her House-mates would spare her, so she spun her tale, laying out how stupid the Finnigan boy was and this and that and so on. Hadrian had been irked by her near-shrill of a voice and just closed his book with a loud bang before turning his attention to her.

"Stop lying. You are in the common room now, why lie? Tell the truth and deal with the consequences, earn the points back, don't try and twist events to portray you as cunning or anything like it. Today, you have only shown how much you lack cunning, baiting the Gryffindors in front of all those witnesses. How you got into this House, I have no idea, I can only guess it must have been ambition so overwhelming that it supplanted for the common sense or wit that you lacked."

The words caused a sharp inhale of breath from the other students watching the whole thing, and a flush rising to Malfoy's cheeks. What little civility existed before Potter and Malfoy now thoroughly vanished. And the entertainment in the common room began. Every day henceforth the girl would try to demean him with her words or threatening physical violence via proxies, i.e. Crabbe and Goyle, though the latter stopped once Hadrian said to her, in a drawl so similar to her own, a fact that hadn't gone unnoticed by those listening in, how lowborn she must be for considering settling her affairs with such _Muggle_ behavior. The words she spoke had little to no effect on Hadrian, and soon she ran out of things to try and insult him about. One thing she kept bringing up was his messy hair and how he had no sense of decorum, how he brought down the prestige of Slytherin with such unkempt looks. That also stopped once he suggested she might look good with such hairstyle as well, not giving words to the hidden-behind-words threat that he would fashion her hair into that should she push on with the verbal jabs. Though he was by no means a prankster or anything, Hadrian Potter was known in the common room for making things happen without seemingly being involved with the event, barring the previous association with the victims of 'accidents'. Of course, he didn't do half of the things that the rumors spoke of, but there was no need to deny it, as long as it served him well. And once the girl saw that her standard escort was having no effect on the boy who offended her so much, she gathered up the two aforementioned additions, though aside from the Parkinson girl, he had no issue with them and kept their interactions to the minimum.

So he endured the meals in the great hall, endured the words of the grandfather figure of Albus Dumbledore who tried on and on to inquire about his private affairs. Every single time the Headmaster would try to push too far with his questions, the Bloody Baron would appear, coincidentally floating through the chair that the Headmaster sat on and through him, discomforting him enough before he came close to his protege and subtly moved him away from the place. Severus had internally grinned whenever it happened, as it was a rare sight. He could understand and see the brat wished to keep his privacy, especially in such a public place where there were people outside of his House. Snape didn't even bother entertaining the thought that the brat might have shared if they were all Slytherins around, because that would be exposing a weakness, and Slytherins, though they might be united because no other would stand up for them, would still try and seek to exploit the weakness.

* * *

The morning after all students that left Hogwarts for their homes had woken up Hadrian with confusion on his face. There, at the bottom of his bed, stood boxes. He looked at the things, blinking the drowsiness away, before even thinking of opening them. Before any further action could be taken with the issue of boxes, he went on to the shower area, now having complete and unlimited freedom of the place, able to shower as much as he liked, without needing to keep on edge as to whether someone else might pop in. Once he was thoroughly cleansed and refreshed, he sat there on his bed, looking at the two boxes as if trying to pierce the paper they were wrapped in and peek into whatever contents they hid. Though thoroughly intrigued by their presence, he still went off to breakfast in the great hall, seating himself as far away as he could from the others, before he noticed something.

The great hall was looking odd. Were it not for his one failed attempt of escaping the cupboard during that day back at the Dursleys, Hadrian wouldn't have recognized the items. Christmas decorations. At Hogwarts. Feeling similar to disgust at seeing something again so Muggle-like, he realized what the boxes at his bed now meant. Presents. He was aware of the concept of presents, of gifting and receiving gifts in return, though he had not experienced it. Instead of making him feeling perhaps joyful at the thought that someone would send gifts to him, he was apprehensive and cautionate about the thing. The next thought that popped into his head was who might have sent him jinxed, hexed or even cursed items. Malfoy, he ventured a guess, was one option. But who would be the other? He didn't know any diagnostic charms to cast, and trying to rush off to the library to find the books for diagnostic spells now would be impossible as Madam Pince was down at the table, and she preferred to keep the place locked down whenever she wasn't there. Grumbling internally, he settled for the next best thing.

"Professor, I was wondering if you could help me."

Severus looked down at the brat, aware that he was following him out of the great hall once breakfast was done with, though unaware why that would be so.

"Help you with what, Potter?" he spoke in his usual tone, which indicated that he wished the conversation was not happening.

"I seem to have received some... gifts, I believe," Hadrian continued with his polite tone, and the Potions Master's eyebrow arched upwards, "The thing is, there is no reason for me to receive gifts, so I'm guessing that they might be jinxed or hexed gifts. Due to Madam Pince still being in the great hall, and showing no signs of leaving it any time soon, I cannot find the necessary books, learn and cast the required diagnostic and detection spells on my own. So, I would like to ask for your help, just this once, in helping me see what the 'gifts' have in store for me. In return, I'll spend five hours per day, for the next two days, helping you replenish and sort out ingredients for classes."

_'Truly, a mind of a Slytherin, expecting nothing for free, and already offering negotiating terms,' _Severus mused about before speaking, "Three days, Potter. Three days of work, and consider it done."

The boy nodded and merely followed his Head of House to their common room. Once they had reached the place and ventured forth towards Zabini's and his sleeping quarters, the Potions Master wasted no time and started casting the spells, and after a few minutes informed the boy that there was nothing harmful about the boxes themselves, nor the paper or the gifts inside. He noted the undisguised surprise on the brat's face, and the words spoken minutes ago came back to him, _'.. there is no reason for me to receive gifts...'_, once more reaffirming his suspicions. Suspicions he would need to act upon when the end of the year came near.

Now that he was left alone in the room with... gifts, Hadrian's mind swirled. Who would send him gifts? The Dursleys? Doubtful. Who else? He had no friends in his own House let alone outside it. It would take the better part of the next hour until his mind calmed down sufficiently and allowed him to open the first box. There was no note inside, not a card to indicate who sent it. Just the book. A plain book with a brown, untitled, cover. Once he opened it, he was even more confused once he saw the blank pages. Every last one of them was utterly blank. Yet... yet, he felt something odd about the book. When he brushed his fingers along its spine it seemed almost to purr in content, or the illusion of such was fabricated in his mind. The spells his Head of House cast revealed nothing malicious about the gift itself, nothing that would harm him or anyone who would open the box. Could the book possibly be charmed in some manner, keeping hidden knowledge within itself? It would bear thought, and he would ask the Bloody Baron for additional input on the matter.

The second box was similar in size, though once the paper was removed and the box opened, there was someting much smaller than the book itself. A pendant of sorts, where two serpents intertwined themselves around a small green diamond shaped stone, their fangs sunk into the stone. With it came a chain, apparently made from the same silver metal that the snakes were, but once again no note, and no card. As he was once more about to sink into his mind and try to guess who would send such an expensive gift to him, the Bloody Baron's shade made the boy aware of his presence as he chuckled lightly at the boy's face, so usually void of expressions and now overcome with them.

"I see you're quite taken with the gift, little snake. Wise of you not to place it upon yourself immediately, who knows what harmful enchantments it might bear?"

Shaking his head from stray thoughts, he responded, "There are none. Enchantments, I mean. I had Professor Snape check the boxes before I even unwrapped the paper."

A great smile now appeared on the shade's face, "Good, little snake. You are learning. Well, fret not any further, the gift is from me," he elaborated and then let some small part of that dark and rich laughter escape his spectral lips at the boy's confusion plainly etched on the face, "Yes, little snake. It is from me. Don't wonder how I managed to get it to you, merely... appreciate the gift. You need not wear it, but I would be quite delighted should you accept it."

Hadrian looked at the ghost, contemplated his words for a minute or two, and then attached the pendant to the silver chain, before putting it around his neck, "I trust you would not harm me, and I am honored deeply that you would find me worthy of a gift," he spoke in whispers, reverence and gratitude finding their way into his tone.

Not for the first time since he met the boy, the Bloody Baron wished he still had tangible flesh with which to wield a wand or a knife so he could torture the ones who did this to the boy, who made him so broken and unused to kindness. Outwardly, none of his thoughts showed, a ghost would not be betrayed by his 'flesh', as it is mostly a memory of it, a rather strong memory, but a memory nonetheless.

"It is best, little snake, that you keep the gift beneath your cloth, it touching the flesh would be most preferable. There are some... minor enchantments, nothing that should impact you too much, just something that is customary with such gifts, such as you being the only person who could remove it or the only who could notice it in the first place. The latter enchantment is not impossible to circumvent, but most people, if they look at you while you wear it exposed, would pay it no heed."

The boy nodded and now pulled the robes, and clothes beneath it, over the chain, leaving it to settle with the chill that coursed through him once the serpents and the small gem touched his flesh. The unusual feeling vanished soon after and he palmed the space where the serpents rested on his chest.


	9. Chapter 9

Too soon, for Hadrian's tastes, the school was filled with students once more. Not that he minded his own Housemates, aside from Malfoy and his small circle, but the rest could have stayed back at home. The silence of the school which he found himself enjoying was now thoroughly broken and other than venturing into the unused parts of the castle, there would be no silence more like it.

And speaking of Malfoy, the girl had returned with newfound confidence and wasted no time in trying to insult him once they were in their common room. After all, appearances outside of it must be kept. She even resorted to trying to singe whatever book he was reading at the time from a distance, but usually found herself thwarted once she noticed the tip of his wand pointed in her direction, a small smirk playing on the boy's lips while he paid no further attention to her and kept reading on the book.

The line was crossed one day when she actually used some cunning and made another first year trip in front of Hadrian and the armchair he was sitting in with a book, thus staining his robes and the book he currently had in his lap with ink. Frowning slightly, he quickly vanished the ink from his robes and from the book itself. But Malfoy would not let it go. Again she did the same action, another bottle of ink staining him and his belongings, and this time managed to singe away at the book's cover while he was occupied with cleaning himself.

For her, that turned out to be a mistake, as only a few moments later, her wand flew out of her hand and she found herself sticking to the wall, while Crabbe and Goyle looked apprehensively at the boy who was standing in an aggressive stance they had never seen him display before.

"Go for your wands, please. I need the exercise and you two could be such delightful targets, I am sure to squeeze out an hour or two from this," his words dripping with venom and a promise, not a threat.

The words thoroughly discouraged the two boys, and the other two who usually hanged about Malfoy were nowhere to be seen. The other students in the room now openly laughed at the sight, both the first years and upper-years. Oh what entertainment that was. They had never seen the Potter boy react so direct and viciously at someone, and the spells he used were well above the first year schoolbooks, the cogs in their minds turning and filing another interesting tidbit of information for further use.

Performing a mocking bow for the rest of the common room, receiving some applause in return, Hadrian left the common room, and Malfoy stuck on the wall. The spell would not wear off for the next hour and none of the other students wished to end the entertainment so soon, while her goons merely wished not to anger the odd boy that had seemed to grow, in a manner of speaking, over the past two weeks they had been away from the castle.

Back in his room, he had the peace he required for the book that was on his mind for the past week. He had finally solved the mystery of the brown book, which in his mind he called simply the 'Brown Book', and voraciously made his way through its pages, absorbing as much information as he could. For all intents and purposes, the book was mostly about theory of magic, the discussion and numerous opinions offered on the subject of how it worked its way. Intent was mentioned often enough, and emotions as well. Some spells would work far better when bringing up emotions, a thing he was unused to when it came to spellwork. And his application of the theories within the Brown Book proved true. Malfoy wasn't the first practical test, though it did help quite a bit to have a live person interacting. He felt a tug, a pull inside, when he cast the _Expeliarmus_, keeping it at a normal tone when he spoke the incantation, and Malfoy's wand flew into his open hand. It was as if a tendril of his own magic had lashed out and grabbed the offending stick of wood. It created a sensation of tingling in his fingers which grasped the wand. The Brown Book spoke of more than just theories, it spoke more of how it was not needed to shout out incantations at all, volume of sound could be supplanted with the strength of will or intent. You needed to want it to happen in order for it to happen in the first place.

The book was proving more useful by the day, as he carefully read over each page of it. It was by mere stroke of luck that he unlocked its secret. One day, when he was leafing through it for the n-th time, he had grabbed one of the pages too roughly and cut his finger on the page. And as the blood drop fell on the page, it was absorbed, and the words were wrote themselves into existence. Not all of it was uncovered, however. It seemed to follow some twisted sense of logic, whereas he could only advance further in the book, once he understood the previous part he read. After the initial theories, there had been a few spells, such as the sticking and the disarming spell, and a few others which he knew only through Yvanna. But somewhere along, he had already read through a third of the book and reached an ominous passage that intrigued him.

_'... for one to venture more into knowledge, another sacrifice is required, not of lifesblood, but that of...'_

But that of what? Nothing more was said and he had to keep guessing as to what else might unlock the rest of the pages. Would it even unlock the rest of the pages or would it just unlock another third and then once more would he have to sacrifice something again? He had discussed the matter with the Baron, who had told him that the first unlocking was only minor blood magic, nothing too severe, though frowned upon by the modern society, for which he expressed a distaste. And if Hadrian knew the Baron at all, the shade already knew what the next sacrifice would require of him, and knew he would not speak of it until it was done with. So for now he would have to be patient and trudge through the new homework he had been assigned by the teachers.

* * *

Hadrian's interactions with the Malfoy girl had ceased now for almost three months, the girl had made no move to indicate retribution for what she had to endure nearly three months ago. It was the middle of April now, and not long before the school year would end. Another matter pressed on his mind, thinking about how he would go about to convince the Headmaster to allow him to stay at the school for the summer. His previous plan to use his magic to subdue the Dursleys into not harming him in any way was shattered into pieces once he had overheard a student complaining of how they wouldn't be allowed to use magic over the summer, as it was against the law. He nearly cursed out-loud once the message sunk it. His one tool, his one means of self-protection, and more if needed, and it was taken away from him by a frivolous law. Gritting his teeth, he knew the law made sense in some way, but for now, it completely ruined what he had planned.

After he had inquired with his Head of House about whether he could possibly stay over the summer in school, and offering in return half of his waking hours as a helper in the classroom and outside of it if needed, a thing which tempted Severus Snape quite a bit, he had been told that such a decision was out of his purview, that only the current Headmaster could decide whether someone could stay in the school over the summer. Hadrian had been cautioned by the Potions Master to prepare for a negative reply from the elderly Headmaster, as he was not the first to ask for such a thing. There was something in the gaze of Severus Snape that made Hadrian wonder whether the man knew why he didn't wish to return home for the summer, but his Professor only watched the boy, an unfamiliar thing hiding in his eyes, something that might have been compassion long ago, had it not been thoroughly quashed out of him, and now only a memory of it. Hadrian of course didn't know what the man was thinking and interpreted the look as curiosity.

* * *

As much as he hated to consider the matter previously, his Head of House was right. He tried talking to the Headmaster, he nearly pleaded with the man to allow him to stay. The elderly man said his words were exaggeration. He told him that everyone had trials in their life, and that this was merely one of his to overcome. He told him that had the Dursleys not cared for him they would not have accepted him into his home in the first place. _'Of course, who would refuse a freely given slave?' _he fumed as he stalked away from the Headmaster's office. In the end, despite all his words, despite all the ways he tried to word his reason for trying to stay at Hogwarts for the summer, his request was denied. The old fool had even told him that the problem perhaps lied in himself, rather than the Dursleys, since they were after all Muggles, with whom he should learn to get along with, since they are, as he said, _'.. a part of our world, and we of theirs.'_ The old man had even gone so far to say that he would send someone to check up on him at the Dursleys, to make sure he remained at their home. Thankfully, the Headmaster seemed unaware that Hadrian had not returned there in August, when he got away from Hagrid's reach, so he might go there near the end, once the letter with his new school supplies arrived.

He didn't bother to remain in the common room that night, and his rapid entry and leave from it was seen as an unusual deviation from the normal routine he had established over the past eight months of school. His anxiety, his flickering emotions, didn't go unnoticed, for the serpent's pit housed those similar, though not the same, to him, though he and they would never have acknowledged it out loud. Nearly all of them had been taught from birth how to school their faces, how to act proper in public, how to know the difference between friends, allies, acquaintances and others, how to know when relaxing is an option, and when relaxing would be seen as a sign of weakness. In the House of Slytherin, they were all serpents. And you were either raised as one or moulded yourself into one to survive. Which in the end, was the same thing.

* * *

His room was bereft of the other occupant, a fact for which Hadrian was silently grateful. He could not stand to be seen like this by anyone, he had shown weakness to the Dursleys and they abused it when they had the chance. He would not show any kind of weakness to anyone in the school, least of all to his Housemates, a group which sought out weaknesses, exploiting them equally, though perhaps not as cruelly, as others would, even amongst themselves.

Inside of him, a well of rage was slowly building up, a hate he felt for the Dursleys, hate which made him lose control those precious few times, and sent him straight into the dreamlands via the blackness that accompanied the beatings. A hate for the old fool that would not listen and spare him the hell that he sent him to in the first place. There was still a month and a half before school was ended, but for Hadrian, it felt like, then and there, the Dursleys would show up, acting proper in public, and their cruel, malice-disfigured, selves would unveil in the privacy of Privet Drive, number four.

Laying on his bed, hidden beneath the bed curtains, he had closed his eyes and tried to relax himself, but the peace, the calm and serenity would not come. The emotions would have to be driven out. And the only way he could think of ridding himself of these emotions was magic. Even in this moment of despair, he thought of magic, of knowledge he had learned, of how he would survive with the knowledge earned here. He thought of the Brown Book. And in that moment, realized what he needed to sacrifice.

Holding the book now in his lap, his wand out and its tip pressing into its plain and brown hardcover, he sent all that he felt, all of the hate, all of the fear, all of the despair, all of the things that plagued his being that night, he sent it outside of him with a hunger in his voice as he hissed out the words.

"Give me knowledge!"

It felt like he had been stung by something, as if something was draining away a part of him. It was painful at first, all sacrifices must be as such, otherwise their worth would be diminished. And the Brown Book ate it all up, nearly humming with the magic that now infused itself with the simplest of gestures: intent and need.

And it provided.

* * *

The next day had greeted the child with a ray of warm sun, reaching through his curtains and he felt like stretching himself out while lazying about in the warm glare. That was before he realized he was in the dungeons and not the warm summer day of his dreams, where he merely rested in the grass, absorbing the pleasant heat, welcoming it and wanting more.

Another thing which surprised him was that he had overslept. His roommate, the Zabini boy, was already out of the room and casting a quick _Tempus_ showed him he had not overslept as much as he thought. There was still time for a shower. And while there was still some sense of unease of going about nude around the others, he knew that this day would come. A part of him even welcomed it. He could clearly recall the words Yvanna had spoken to him on that day, _'... none of the scars are your weakness, little one, they only show the weakness of others and how much you survived.'_

So he walked steadily on his way to the showers, disrobing himself before stepping under the shower and its warm assault of water, another wave of content, similar to the one from the dream, spreading throughout his body, even the silver chain on which the serpent locket hanged upon emitted a warm feeling on his skin. He ignored what gazes were cast his way, speaking nothing of it and not trying to hide it. The shower had ended soon and he left the bathroom.

He did not stay in the common room, as he usually would, but proceeded to go straight to the great hall for a bit of breakfast, and along the way enjoyed the company of the Bloody Baron. But the common room he left behind didn't remain silent.

_'Did you see how many he had?'_

_'Merlin, there were too many.'_

_'What are you two talking about?'_

_'The Potter boy, the first year, he's..'_

_'What?'_

_'His back's all covered with scars.'_

_'So?'_

_'Idiot! Do you even listen? They're...'_

And so the story spread among his Housemates, each trying to guess what was the cause of his scars. But a few that remembered the first word he spoke with unbridled venom in his tone, came very close to guessing who had caused the injuries on their fellow snake. And they would watch. And some among them would only watch, while one or two would plan on what to do further.

* * *

The weeks glided by and soon it was the last month of school. The Quidditch season was over, and the cup would go once more, fifth time in a row, to Slytherin. The House Cup would, if things remained as they were, also go to Slytherin, this one being a constant presence in Severus Snape's office for the past nine years. One more year, this year, and they would have an unbroken decade behind them.

Classes for some had intensified, while for others they signaled relaxation as most of the exams had been done with and the remaining week or two would be spent in reviewing the material they had learned that school year, while also being assigned homework for the summer.

* * *

The last day of the school was now there. There was a rumor going about the castle of something that happened over the past week, something that landed the Longbottom boy in the hospital wing for the last four days. All sorts of speculation was going about, it even reached the Slytherin table, where they were mostly dismissed as fanciful tales. Even with him being the Boy-Who-Lived, the tales were too outlandish.

But they were proven true.

The leaving feast was occurring in the great hall, one last meal before students would go back home and teachers would have two months to recuperate before the school year would start all over. Everyone was dressed in the school robes and ate in relative silence, if one disregarded the chatter coming from the Gryffindor table. The reason for the chatter was obvious, Longbottom had returned from the infirmary and had been talking with his friends, telling wild tales and who knows what to them, almost as if he was basking in the attention it garnered him. Some from the Gryffindor table were not so subtly growling and complaining of the tapestries that now adorned every wall and not just the one behind the Slytherin table, showing off who was the proud winner of the House Cup for this year. Hadrian had noticed in his silent observation that there was a person missing from the staff table, their DADA teacher, Professor Quirrell. An odd thing, since the leaving feast was mandatory for all, staff and students alike.

As breakfast was nearing its end, and some of the student body started fidgeting, eying the doors of the great hall which would lead them outside, back to the station, where the Hogwarts Express would carry them home, the Headmaster finally rose from his seat, to give out a few farewell words.

"Another year gone!" Dumbledore said cheerfully, "And I must trouble you with an old man's wheezing waffle before we sink our teeth into our delicious feast. What a year it has been! Hopefully you heads are all a little fuller than they were...you have the whole summer ahead of get them nice and empty before next year starts...

Now, as I understand it, the House Cup here needs awarding, and the points stand thus: In fourth place, Gryffindor, with three hundred and twelve points; in third, Hufflepuff, with three hundred and fifty-two; Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six and Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two."

The Slytherins cheered, their usual decorum giving way to the exultation they felt for winning the House Cup for the tenth time in a row, and Hadrian saw a most unusual thing on the face of their Head of House; a genuine smile. The rest of the staff table didn't seem so pleased, and the student body, barring the Ravens, seemed to share the looks of disappointment or petulance at the sight of Slytherin's win.

"Yes, yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore, "However, recent events must be taken into account."

The words immediately silenced the Slytherin table and Hadrian could almost feel the bile rising up from his stomach. The Bloody Baron narrowed his eyes at the aging Headmaster, trying to see what the old fool was planning on doing.

"Ahem," said Dumbledore, "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes... First - to Mr. Ronald Weasley, for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years. I award Gryffindor House fifty points. Second - to Miss Parvati Patil...for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor House fifty points. Third - to Mr. Neville Longbottom..." said Dumbledore. The room went deadly quiet. "...for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor House sixty points."

There was a pregnant silence before the old man continued his speech, "There are all kinds of courage," the Headmaster spoke, smiling, "It takes a great deal to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Seamus Finnigan. Which means, we need a little change of decoration."

Once more there was an uproar in the great hall as the tapestries changed from the green, silver-trimmed to red with gold trims and the Gryffindor Lion proudly emblazoned across them. The Gryffindors cheered the loudest of all, but even the Hufflepuffs joined in, while the Ravenclaws clapped politely with open scowls on their faces, and the Slytherins looked downright hateful towards the old man sitting at the center of the table. Robbed of their victory, by points being assigned for things no one even knew about. Say what you like about the Slytherin's Head of House being biased for his own, but now the Headmaster had went over the top and so clearly favored the Gryffindors. Whether something had actually happened, whether it was because of the presence of the Boy-Who-Lived, none of them knew, but they equally loathed it. Hadrian included. The old man spoke of overcoming trials, and yet here he is, dishing out undeserved rewards and robbing his House, '_His House!'_, of justly deserved victory. Hadrian Potter's scowl equaled that of Severus Snape had anyone bothered to compare the two, and the two would be surprised at how similar their thoughts ran.


	10. Chapter 10

The way back to the Hogwarts express had been different than the one they came in. Horseless carriages pulled them on the way, and Hadrian didn't even bother to see with whom he would be sitting, other than they were Slytherins, like him. He paid them no heed and they paid him no heed. When he boarded the Hogwarts Express he had abandoned those that were with him in the carriage and quickly tried finding an empty compartment for himself. Sadly, the search was bound to fail, as many others had boarded the train-cars before he even came close. On his way to search for one compartment where he could rest, he came across the compartment that contained his least favorite people, Gryffindors. They had noticed him giving the compartment a glance and shouted out some uninspiring insult, containing the same old drivel with him being a 'slimy, slithery snake', though the cherry on top was how they stole the cup from underneath their slimy scales. Deciding this would be one good chance to play with the idiots, he turned his face back towards them and entered their compartment, allowing a faint smile to show itself on his face, which utterly disturbed the group before him; which consisted of Longbottom, Weasley, Patil, Finnigan and the Brown girl. Oh joy, his favorite people indeed.

"Hello there, Weasel, sharing stories already of how you stole the Cup? My, my, so much for your vaunted Gryffindor nobility, the mighty cats reduced to stealing from us serpents. Tut, tut, Mr. Longbottom, it seems that fame is everything for the Headmaster, you having been assigned so many points for such spectacular feats that they don't dare repeat it for us. No, no, us mere people must be grateful to bask in your presence, and what a roundish presence it is. Have you perchance eaten your pet toad, Mr. Longbottom, you seem to be gaining some of its color right now as we speak? No. Shame, it would have been a chivalrous end for one such as him, to be eaten by the Boy-Who-Lived. Imagine the fame he would live on in! And you, Mr. Finnigan, guess the Irish penchant for stealing other people's luck really worked out in the end, hasn't it? Not to worry, Mr. Finnigan, all will be given their dues in the end, I know how you Gryffindors love your sense of fair play. After all, the same sense of fair play sparked here the lovable Miss Brown to open her mouth and let loose a torrent of utter lies, must have been where her clothes wound up on that chilly day in the Potions, wouldn't you agree with me, Miss Patil? Ah, no need to flush on my behalf, Miss Patil, I must say that the color doesn't suit you. I would avoid eating spicy food if I were you, though gratefully I am spared of that experience, I imagine it does poorly for your complexion when you heat up so easily, but it's not like anyone will notice it will they? No, no, I digress. My sincere congratulations on your theft, oh brave Gryffindors! Perhaps the old fool shall grace us with another surprise next year and just hand you the cup right at the start, why bother allowing a petty thing like hard earned points to play any part in deciding the worthy ones, hmm? Ah, I see by the skin of the Weasel that I might have overtaxed your minds with my words, my, even his hair is starting to pale in comparison to his flushing, perhaps he should let Miss Patil borrow some, Merlin knows he has a lot to spare. Till next years, noble cats."

What he left behind in that compartment was an assembly of shell-shocked, gob-smacked, utterly stunned into silence and stupor five Gryffindors. And outside of their compartment they heard an unusual sound, one they had never heard before; Hadrian Potter laughing.

As he was passing yet another compartment he sensed the door opening and felt himself being pulled in. Before even seeing who had pulled him in, his wand was out and the tip of it pointed right between the eyes. Familiar eyes. And once he had the second to realize whose eyes they were, he greeted them.

"Why, hello Miss! I dare say you look familiar, have we met before?"

The other two people in the compartment didn't bother hiding their grins, and the one he had just accosted merely stuck out her tongue at him.

"Would you mind removing your wand from my forehead, Potter? I'd rather enjoy not having to explain the dent in my skin."

"Certainly so, Davis," he resumed in his polite tone, the one that all of them were acquainted with, before pulling back the wand and depositing it in his pocket, "Is there a particular reason why you pulled me in here?"

"Yes, now be quiet and sit, you git!"

"A git? You wound me, Davis. You barely know me, give me a chance and I'll show you that the word 'git' is inadequate when describing me."

The auburn haired witch sat back on what was her spot and looked at him, nearly tilting her head to the side, "Since when have you been so talkative? You barely talked to anyone back at school, and here we are, ten minutes away from it, and you already verbally flayed the poor Gryffindors, and now you're back to jabbing at me, like you did the first time on the train."

"Ah, you heard that?"

"Kind of hard not to, you stood there in the passage way and your voice carried over, and despite the sweetness oozing from it, everyone clearly understood you meant to spank some sense of shame into those dunderheads."

"Dunderheads? Davis, you have been spending too much time around our Head of House. Although that would explain what he does all night long..."

"Prat! Git! Idiot! Don't ever, ever say anything like that again! Ugh, I'm going to ask mother to Obliviate me when we get back home."

"Glad to be of service, Davis."

The verbal jabbing continued for some time, until they felt the train lurching out of the station and heading on its way back to London. Were there a point system in place, Tracey Davis would have been marked as the one with the lesser amount. Zabini was most intrigued about how suddenly the boy, his own roommate, could change so suddenly into a completely different person. A person he had spent a whole school year with, sharing the same room, and yet barely knew him. Were it not for his confrontations with Malfoy and other people outside of their House, Potter could have easily faded out of existence, he never tended to draw attention to himself, either in class or otherwise. He tried not to look too hard at the boy sitting next to him now, but he did catch a few glances thrown his way in the reflection of the window.

* * *

Despite the fact that the only thing she shared with the boy was the common room and classes, Daphne Greengrass' observations of the boy in front of her were nearly nine months long now. Ever since she watched him push out the wretched Malfoy girl out from their compartment, he had been a point of interest for her. His House placement only served to indulge her own hunger for more knowledge about him, and when she heard his last name being called out like that, seeing him step out to the Sorting Hat and being sorted into Slytherin... that only compounded the want to know more about him. He had been... unremarkable in the start, aside from the mentioned incident in the train, his sorting and his brief chat with the House's ghost.

A Potter in Slytherin. Oh how some of the other girls loved to gossip amongst themselves, and though their gossip never went beyond the common room, it was still present. Malfoys were, as she liked to point out so often, were above gosipping. No, the little platinum blonde merely whispered her own observations of the boy, which turned into outright malice-filled words after the incident in the flying lesson. Daphne never participated in the gossip, while her roommate, Tracey, freely indulged herself in this. It suited her anyway, since she had a permanent source into whatever found its way to the girls. They supplied the rumors, which weren't rumors at all, at how the Potter boy was hardening on the outside, lashing out at others who started picking on him when he ventured alone outside of the common room.

His lashing outs were subtle, as Slytherin as they could be, never getting caught in the act, never leaving a trace that he might have done something. Seeing those two Hufflepuffs in Herbology yelp out in pain as the puss was spat out onto their faces, made her want to smile instead of hiding behind her cold and aloof persona. The repayment for the harsh words, and they were harsh, even Daphne saw them as such, that the two Gryffindors spoke were equally amusing, though she wished that Potter had slightly disfigured them in the process rather than just shaming. Ah well, if wishes were hippogriffs...

When they returned from the holidays, she was most curious how he would be, whether he would be changed in some way. The book did cost her a pretty good amount of galleons, but she felt it a worthwhile investment. And it paid off in dividends. Watching, yet again, the Malfoy girl being humiliated before the whole common room, only gave rise to the laughter she contained within her chest during the whole year. Then there was nothing for a while, other than his usual jabs at the Gryffindors. She thought that he might perhaps disappoint her expectations, but she was never more glad than that night to be proven wrong.

Something had happened. Something had shifted inside him and Greengrass almost felt like licking her lips at seeing Potter so upset about something. She wished to know what had made it so, what initiated the change. But it was sufficient, for the moment, to know that change did happen. The next morning brought troubling news however. She had guessed and conjectured why the boy never bothered being friendly with anyone but the ghost, but she never thought about the extent he might have endured to be shaped like that. If the words were true, and not flights of fancy or victims of exaggerations, as each retelling must fall victim to, he was thoroughly littered with scars, back and front. It continued to stoke the flame of her curiosity, the hunger to know.

Her hunger was not a bad thing, and she was not the only person to have it. Even that muggleborn witch, the one that left the school in November, had it, though she never controlled the hunger, and allowed herself to be controlled by it and subsequently shunned by others because of it.

Then there was the feast. He was indifferent to it all, indifferent to their House's victory over the others. Until it was taken away from them. Even she felt the indignation at the act, when the Headmaster practically stole the cup from them and had thrown it instead to his pet cats. In that one moment of indignation and anger rising in her, she had nearly missed out on the most wonderful sight of the year; his face. It was disfigured with a scowl, a flash of emotions which he kept in check constantly, not allowing himself to be exposed, no matter the cost. Daphne felt losing the cup almost worthy of that sight alone and internally grinned. Oh she knew she was playing a dangerous game, but she had been playing one ever since she was aware enough there was a game going on all the time. You could call it life or something else, but it was a game. Albeit, with high stakes. Her life was already charted out by her parents, and the only thing she could do was play along, until she had garnered enough influence on her own to disrupt the game, by any means. And right now, one of the more prominent means was sitting right across her, his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling with every breath. Yes, it would be an interesting next year for one Hadrian Potter and Daphne Greengrass.


End file.
